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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349468">you'd finally like to learn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr'>bellygunnr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>start it up / put him in [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Half-Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aliens, Anxiety Attacks, Autistic Character, Blood and Injury, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Selectively Mute Gordon Freeman, Shooting Range, Sign Language, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Trans Male Character, With pain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:33:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't worry, Gordon! He'll have us back inside quick as a whip. I think the science team in AnMats is very lucky to have Officer Calhoun, don't you think?"</p><p>no, you want to say, but your hands do not move and you're struggling against-- against something, an impulse so inane and foolish that you feel like setting fire to your goddamn PhD. you stare at Dr. Kleiner for an impossibly long second, then grab at the bobby pins keeping your hair out of your face.</p><p>most clatter on the floor, but one is gripped firmly, and you bend it out of shape. your knees hit the cold tiles with painful zings-- you're skin and bones on a good day; there's not much to cushion you from the unforgiving metal. the lock makes a few promising sounds as you jam the bobby pin through, relying in no small part on muscle memory. there's stunned silence around you-- good.</p><p>the door clicks. you push it open with the flat of your palm, and are greeted by cocksure Officer Calhoun's face slipping into surprise. </p><p>"I think we have it from here, Officer," you say, your signs deliberate and your grin savage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barney Calhoun/Gordon Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>start it up / put him in [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>540</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. bobby pins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>you haven't been working at Black Mesa for very long, but your boss is an old friend, and his habits have not died from when he was your professor at MIT. the difference now is that when he locks himself out of his lab, he locks you out, too, and you're both forced to linger outside the door until someone comes by to help. </p>
<p>and someone comes by relatively quickly, a man of broad stature and sunny demeanor-- as sunny as a Black Mesa security guard can be, anyway. from your limited experience, they always seemed dour, exhausted in a way, but this one is different.</p>
<p>he's casual, and seems to already know kleiner, but not you.</p>
<p>"Dr. Kleiner! I heard you locked yourself out again, yeah? Give me five minutes and I'll have you all sorted out, okay?"</p>
<p>"Thank you, Barney. Say, have you met my newest colleague, Dr. Freeman?"</p>
<p>you blink, surprised at being directly addressed. with slightly shaky hands you greet the guard, but he takes in your sign language with predictable incomprehension. you remove him from your radar almost instantaneously, but then the guard does something you don't expect--</p>
<p>he pops open the grate on a vent duct near your feet, and starts to crawl inside. you look at Dr. Kleiner with incredulity.</p>
<p>"Don't worry, Gordon! He'll have us back inside quick as a whip. I think the science team in AnMats is very lucky to have Officer Calhoun, don't you think?"</p>
<p>no, you want to say, but your hands do not move and you're struggling against-- against something, an impulse so inane and foolish that you feel like setting fire to your goddamn PhD. you stare at Dr. Kleiner for an impossibly long second, then grab at the bobby pins keeping your hair out of your face.</p>
<p>most clatter on the floor, but one is gripped firmly, and you bend it out of shape. your knees hit the cold tiles with painful zings-- you're skin and bones on a good day; there's not much to cushion you from the unforgiving metal. the lock makes a few promising sounds as you jam the bobby pin through, relying in no small part on muscle memory. there's stunned silence around you-- good.</p>
<p>the door clicks. you push it open with the flat of your palm, and are greeted by cocksure Officer Calhoun's face slipping into surprise. </p>
<p>"I think we have it from here, Officer," you say, your signs deliberate and your grin savage. </p>
<p>unfortunately, your victory is soured by the fact that your hair is falling into your face in curly dregs. you bend down to scoop up the bobby pins, startling badly when your peripheral vision fills with blue.</p>
<p>"Can't say I'm any good with ASL, Dr. Freeman, but for a man like you I think I'd finally like to learn..."</p>
<p>Somewhere above you, Dr. Kleiner makes a noise between a bird and a popped balloon, and the door to the lab clicks shut. You and Calhoun look at each other, the air strangely charged.</p>
<p>You were never one for friends, but for this Officer Calhoun, you think you'd finally like to learn. </p>
<p>--</p>
<p>true to his word, barney calhoun does learn ASL. he greets you with it at first, but it's always coupled with his voice, so loud and high energy. you respond in kind, though you utter nothing. </p>
<p>you ask him if he knows the alphabet.</p>
<p>"Oh! Well, shoot, I'm sure I've been taught it once or twice, but uh... Guess maybe I should have started with that, eh, Doc?" </p>
<p>you nod, smiling despite your best efforts. "I'm sure I can teach you something," you say, and knock your shoulder against his as you pass the security clearance into the AnMat wing.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>you bring your work with you into the break room. Dr. Kleiner scolds you for it, of course, but these lab reports need to be finished before the week is out and you certainly aren't going to have time for them tomorrow. the coffee burns your mouth, but you gulp past it, growling through the pain. your free hand continues copying text down at a frightening pace.</p>
<p>in truth, the bulk of your morning has been consumed by these lab reports, and your hand is starting to cramp from writing. the muscles seize now, the pen nib scratching wildly as you lose control. you sigh, defeated.</p>
<p>maybe Dr. Kleiner was right, and you should stop. take an actual break. but you've never been good at taking breaks. if you stop moving, stop doing, you'll die-- you'd liken it to a shark, but you're unsure of the validity of that myth. </p>
<p>"Jeez, Doc, you look fit to kill. What did those papers ever do to you, huh?"</p>
<p>Barney.</p>
<p>his voice drags you out of your reverie. the muscles in your face relax marginally-- just enough for you to relax your jaw. </p>
<p>you wave at him for lack of anything better to do. your other hand flexes wildly.</p>
<p>"Is that supposed to mean somethin'?" Barney asks, pointing at your hand. </p>
<p>"No," you sigh. "Cramps."</p>
<p>this you finger spell, and you watch Barney's face twist in concentration. his nose scrunches whenever he's thinking hard.</p>
<p>"Well, shoot, Doc. That means you should stop! I'm gonna get us some food. Don't go anywhere this time!"</p>
<p>there's a fucking wiggle Barney Calhoun does when he's satisfied. it starts in the torso and fizzles in the shoulders, running all the way to his fingertips. he does it now, and you find it--</p>
<p>you find it effervescent.</p>
<p>God damn.</p>
<p>by the time Barney comes back, your work is neatly put away, and you're shamefully aware of just how hungry you are. you share your meals.</p>
<p>the coffee you knock it back with tastes different. it tastes better.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>there's word of a new kind of testing in a new kind of lab. there's word that you're the one who gets the honors.</p>
<p>you've always liked to advance, but this--</p>
<p>this fills you with anxiety. </p>
<p>not because the rumors are true, but because the requirements for fulfilling such an honor are tall, and you've never been athletically inclined. worse, you have six months to hit even the minimum--</p>
<p><em>"Barney,"</em> you tap into your phone,<em> "help."</em></p>
<p>with his company, you have your first anxiety attack in three months, but he walks you through it. </p>
<p>and he only ribs you a little after offering to train you properly. </p>
<p>--</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. battering rams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the hot New Mexico sun beats down on you. sweat stains your shirt so that none of it is dry, and the lukewarm water you brought feels ice cold going down your throat. it's your third week of working out-- but it's your first week performing the routine solo. not your choice, but it is what it is. </p><p>it's a lot harder by yourself. but you manage.<br/>
 <br/>
running sets you to thinking, unfortunately. your burning muscles and pumping blood become background noise to thoughts of your work. samples of strange crystals have found their way under your microscope, the properties of which excite you. but the samples are volatile. the slightest mistake in handling them renders them contaminated or broken--</p><p>your stopwatch beeps incessantly in your ear. your shoes stomp clumsily against the sun-baked track as you slow down, eventually stopping. the strange chemical happiness that comes from exercise is negated by memories of yesterday's lab work. </p><p>an icy bottle is placed into your hands, which you drink from gratefully. the plastic scrunches beneath your grip, causing water to spill over your face and down your front. the shock clues you in to your surroundings.</p><p>Barney's there, in full security kit, his eyes crinkled with another wide smile. He's leaning on the wood fencing that encloses the track, looking at you, a colorful box tucked beneath one arm.</p><p>"Doc, you're gonna kill me. You're supposed to eat during your lunch break!"</p><p>you're not sure if the heat in your face is from exertion or embarrassment. you frown at Barney, hoping it's not a pout.</p><p>"I was late this morning," you admit, "so I improvised."</p><p>you also weren't hungry, so you weren't about to waste time when you had a goal to complete. </p><p>Barney shakes his head, still smiling. "Eat these, at least. Your form has really improved since last month. Pretty soon you'll be running properly."</p><p>two granola bars are your reward. with a sigh, you ignore his jab and tear open the packaging, biting into the snacks with little enthusiasm. they're sticky and dry and overly sweet.</p><p>but it's food, apparently necessary to your survival.</p><p>"Are you on a break, Calhoun?" you ask, and delight in watching him respond in Sign.</p><p>his nose scrunches as he maneuvers his arms and hands. the smile never leaves, but it shrinks and grows with his confidence. his speech follows the stumbling of his sign.</p><p>"Dr. Kleiner asked me to come fetch you, since you're fifteen over your lunch, Doc. So technically I'm still on duty."</p><p>you make a sharp motion with your hands that sends Calhoun laughing wildly, because some things are just universal. </p><p>-</p><p>"Gordon, you smell like death! Go take a shower before you become an anomalous material yourself." </p><p>Dr. Kleiner ushers you out of the lab as quickly as you stepped inside. You frown in deep-set consternation, but comply in the end.</p><p>-</p><p>the next time you resurface from your work, your phone is lit up with several unread notifications. worried, you flick through them quickly, but... it's just Barney.</p><p><strong>BC:</strong> Heard somewhere that the difference between science and screwing around is writing it down, so...<br/>
<strong>BC</strong>:<em> has attached a video.</em><br/>
<strong>BC</strong>: With your guidance, and my intellect, my squad ran an experiment. <br/>
<strong>BC</strong>: <em>has attached a photo.</em><br/>
<strong>BC</strong>: <em>has attached a photo.</em><br/>
<strong>GF</strong>: You're attached to those helmets in that video. That's not safe.<br/>
<strong>GF</strong>: You haven't said anything after those photos. Are you concussed?<br/>
<strong>GF</strong>: At least one of you is concussed. I hate this. <br/>
<strong>BC</strong>: Nothing to say about my lab work? I'm touched you're so deeply concerned about my well-being, Doc.<br/>
<strong>GF</strong>: Calhoun.</p><p>you try to comprehend why Barney would indulge in such activities. then you remember that his squad is celebrating something, though you can't recall exactly what. alcohol and testosterone can do a lot in skewing clear judgment, it seems. </p><p>at least you hope alcohol was involved. the thought of doing that sober upsets you.</p><p>(you tamp down memories of grad school in an effort to remain dignified)</p><p>you wait for him at the tram you both share. he catches you mid-stretches.</p><p>"You gotta put your feet closer together, Dr. Freeman. Otherwise, lookin' good! Say, check it out-- the helmet that got through the door."</p><p>You catch the helmet with a startled gasp, squeaking when it splits apart in your grip. Chunks of carbon fiber and foam scatter around your feet. </p><p>"Calhoun," you scold, expression threatening. "Were you wearing this?" </p><p>"It wasn't me! Hey, you should look at this, I made graphs and everything-- don't look at me like that!"</p><p>you jam the chunks of helmet into the nearest trashcan. in another motion, you grab Calhoun's wrist and drag him onto the tram before it rattles off into Black Mesa's labyrinth. getting home to shower and exercise is higher on your priority list than humoring the security officer.</p><p>-</p><p>the graphs were sloppily plotted. the theory and hypothesis were legible, but lines of text were highlighted in seemingly random fashion throughout the sparse paperwork. you point at it, vaguely bewildered.</p><p>"I did say I used your guidance, Doc," Barney says, as if that explains everything.</p><p>"You did... a good job, Barney," you say grudgingly, because you're not sure how to process that otherwise. "But data is useless if it's not accurate. Next time, make sure your math is consistent."</p><p>and in the low light of your dorm's kitchen, Barney scrunches his nose, then wiggles in success, even going as far as to punch your shoulder. it's not hard, you can tell, but you make a noise of exaggerated pain anyway.</p><p>"Now, do you have any idea how you're going to get home, Officer Calhoun?"</p><p>-</p><p>early next morning, you wake to the smell of something cooking, and your stomach lurches with hunger. a headache quickly rushes to accompany the hollow, gnawing feeling in your stomach, and you can't even be angry that it's six instead of seven. you pry yourself out of your bed and stagger blindly into the open.</p><p>a blurry figure which you assume is barney is already in your kitchen, nursing the stove which is probably occupied with food. you navigate around him.</p><p>there's already a hot pot of coffee.</p><p>"Jesus, Doc! Warn a guy before--"</p><p>"I live here," you cut him off by slurring your words, motions accompanied by a low growl. </p><p>"Well, shit. I guess you do, which is why I made breakfast for two."</p><p><br/>
breakfast for two consists of eggs, toast, and some protein you didn't even know you had. turkey bacon, or something to that effect. it's delicious regardless of its origins.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Now hold me sideways and use my head as a battering ram!"<br/>or: a contingent of Black Mesa Security Force determine how much force is required to both open a closed door and bust their helmets.</p><p>also the slurring of words is Gordon just being really messy with his sign language</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. tie die</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"That's a weird looking tie, Barney," Otis says in greeting. Barney looks down at his neck, confused, but the reason for the comment jumps out at him immediately. </p><p>He's not wearing Security dress-code blues.</p><p>He's wearing a striped red-and-orange tie, <em>Scientist</em> style.</p><p>"Sure is, but you can't see shit over the vest anyway, Otis," Barney replies, tightening the fabric for good measure. "What they don't know won't hurt them, yeah?"</p><p>He dares to look Otis in the eye, a flat, unwavering look that hopefully screamed confidence and not the panic he was truly feeling. If he was wearing this tie, then that meant-- jeez, Kleiner was going to kill both of them! Worse, rumors were going to start flowing from the rumor mill like a broken dam. That's the last thing Dr. Freeman needed.</p><p>Hell, the man was so new that his ID was still being rejected in certain parts of the facility. He shakes his head in frustration-- and to dislodge those thoughts. That was something he'd have to worry about later. He had bigger things to worry about.</p><p>Like the busted network wreaking havoc in the HR department. Why the task fell down to him, he doesn't know, but it is what it is.</p><p>At least it wasn't the Anomalous Materials department. </p><p>-</p><p>The HR department was... nice. It was certainly nicer than the sector Barney usually served in, which led to snooty security guards, the latter of which he faced now. They check his ID by hand--</p><p>"I'm guessin' the ah, science team here has been harassin' ya for not fixin' stuff here?" Barney asks, quirking an eyebrow at their aggression. The ID had been ripped from his hands-- the metal clasp left scrapes on his calloused palms. </p><p>"No, actually. They asked for you by name and you're late as shit, Calhoun," the guard fires back, rolling his eyes. "Get on in there."</p><p>Barney clips his ID back on his chest, rolling his eyes. He clocked in on time, thank you very much. So what if he took a little extra time picking up some things?</p><p>"And nice tie, Calhoun!" the guard shouts behind his back.</p><p>God dammit.</p><p>-</p><p>In the end, it was an Ethernet cable that went sour-- and a pulled plug, which took far longer to discover and also prompted Barney to redo some of the wiring in that particular room anyway. For a facility with so many highly esteemed personnel, they sure were disorganized.</p><p>"Is everything connectin', Tommy?" Barney asks, hovering near a desktop computer.</p><p>"Seems so, Mr. Calhoun! Thanks, you're always so helpful!" Tommy says, beaming. He closes something out on the desktop, looking at Barney with a mischievous glint.</p><p>Barney tenses slightly, but meets his gaze.</p><p>"I didn't know your initials were G.F., Mr. Calhoun."</p><p>He blanches. "What in the hell are you talkin' about, Tommy? Also, call me Barney. All these formalities make my skin crawl, you know that."</p><p>"Your tie, Mr. Cal-- Barney!"</p><p>Barney looks down at his tie-- well, Gordon's tie. True to the other man's words, the initials G.F. were indeed scrawled into a red band of fabric. He sighs. So much for people not noticing what he wore underneath the security vest, huh.</p><p>"I'm outta here!" Barney exclaims, throwing up his hands. "If ya need me, ya know where to find me."</p><p>-</p><p>A week later, Barney finds himself in the break room, fifteen minutes before shift start. He sits across from Gordon, whose nursing a wounded hand-- but insists on using it to sign and grip hot things. It's entertaining, and Barney gets to observe.</p><p>Gordon is uncoordinated in the morning. Couple it with an injury, and he goes from bumbling to outright clumsy, and his hair is held up much more loosely. Curly red strands are already sticking out everywhere in soft, frizzy bunches, free from the confines of the rubber band and bobby pins. His glasses slide down his nose, which he corrects by using the rim of the coffee cup. All of this while he tries to talk, sacrificing nothing to get his point across.</p><p>Barney leans his cheek on his fist, watching him with a lazy smile. He was real cute, especially for a scientist. Then again-- all of his competitors were old men, weren't they? Hard not to be cute, but even with the Security team factored in, Gordon had them beat. </p><p>He was impossibly anxious, but unabashedly weird. And even though he wouldn't tell Barney why he had to bulk, he was already starting to fill out-- which only made him more attractive. And the way he bit his lip when agonizing over something, or stared off into the middle distance doing mental math...</p><p>A bang on the table jarred Barney out of his thoughts.</p><p>His head jerked, and his fist knocked his jaw, sending a starburst of pain through his face.</p><p>"Agh, Doc! What the hell was that for?" </p><p>"You spaced out," Gordon says, and he honest-to-god pouts. "Did you get anything I was saying?"</p><p>And oh, that was a different expression that Barney's never seen before. Bright green eyes scrutinize him, something dark and guarded there.</p><p>"Hell, I'm sorry, Dr. Freeman," Barney says, ducking his head. He rubs his jaw, too, because that had hurt. "Guess I was sleepier than I thought."</p><p><em>And definitely not oglin' ya</em>, he thinks desperately, cheeks coloring.</p><p>"It's fine," but he's not sure it is, "you're going to be late if you don't hurry."</p><p>The clock reads a threatening three minutes 'till start.</p><p>He can't get Gordon's expression out of his mind's eye as he runs out of the break room, a chair clattering to the ground.</p><p>-</p><p>Dr. Kleiner is waiting for him in the Sector C guard check. To Barney's eye, he looks uncomfortable, but determined, face brightening upon spotting him. He fidgets with his glasses before holding up a paper brown bag.</p><p>"Barney! I heard that you share a tram with Dr. Freeman, is that right?"</p><p>"Uh, yeah, that's right," Barney responds cautiously. "What's up?"</p><p>"You know, Gordon and I have been close for many years now. I was his professor in MIT, so I think I know his habits very well. Well, I didn't see him eat lunch today, so do you think you could bring this to him? I can't check on him personally, so I was hoping..."</p><p>Dr. Kleiner trails off, once again pushing at his glasses.</p><p>Barney blinks, then nods vigorously. Of course he'd help! He'd like to think Gordon was his friend, or something like it, and this was something friends did, right?</p><p>Yeah...</p><p>"'Course I can, Kleiner. Say, do you know if Gordon likes aliens?" </p><p>"Oh, thank you! And aliens...? You know, I think you should talk to him about them. His reaction might surprise you!"</p><p>Both of them share a laugh before parting ways.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. aliens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Barney catches up with Gordon on the tram ride 'home.' He's sitting instead of standing, head leaned back against the window, arms wrapped protectively around his torso. He looks for all the world like he's in pain, but Barney's about seventy-percent sure he's not. Gordon, despite being mute, doesn't seem to internalize anything-- if he's hurt, he whines about it. </em>
</p>
<p>So maybe he's just sleeping?</p>
<p>"Hey, Doc," Barney starts, quiet. "You good?"</p>
<p>And Gordon shudders, cracking one eye open, then the other-- he's drowsy, then. His jaw cracks as he yawns as wide as he can go. </p>
<p>"When'd you get here, Calhoun?" He asks, sitting up straight.</p>
<p>"Just got on. Hey, I've got lunch for ya," Barney replies, taking a moment to put together the signs before setting the paper brown bag on his lap. "Even you have to eat."</p>
<p>He watches Gordon rummage through the bag, pulling out what looks like an elaborate sandwich and a thing of vegetables. The doctor bites into it with a surprising vengeance. </p>
<p>"What's on your mind, Doc?" Barney chances to ask, taking a tentative seat beside him. "You've got your thinkin' eyes on."</p>
<p>The other doesn't respond for a while, focused on eating. There's a tension in his shoulders that translates to rigidity throughout the rest of his body-- he's on edge, like a finely sharpened knife. Barney pays close attention.</p>
<p>"This is what Kleiner eats," is the first thing he says. "He ate it in MIT, too. Never saw him eat anything else during lunch."</p>
<p>Barney nods. "Kleiner's, uh, he actually asked me to give that to you," he admits. "Says you-- didn't eat lunch?"</p>
<p>Again, that guarded look. Then Gordon shakes himself and it's gone, leaving nothing but bright eyes and a pinched expression. His hands dance-- finally waving around to clear everything he tried to say, curling up against each other in his lap. </p>
<p>Barney smiles, gentle. "You don't have to tell me anything, ya hear? Kleiner was your professor in MIT, right? Y'know, he talked about you even way before you first got here."</p>
<p>At that, Gordon flushes, embarrassed. "That doesn't sound very professional."</p>
<p>"No, I guess it ain't."</p>
<p>The tram shudders around them. Vibrations underfoot intensify as the rails underfoot grow dirty and mal-cared for, which triggers an automated response from the tram itself. Barney mimes along to the robotic message, using his right hand as a puppet to mouth it. </p>
<p>There's a strange, raspy splutter beside him-- he looks, just in time to see Gordon laughing.</p>
<p>Barney feels heat strike his cheeks, the world swaying around him. The laughter is mostly silent except for some errant squeaks. His shoulders shake and one hand grips Barney's knee as an anchor, the other pressed against his mouth. A giddy feeling rises in his chest-- he's never seen Gordon laugh before. </p>
<p>Not like this, anyway.</p>
<p>Dumbly, he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He almost says as much but his voice comes out incoherent, sentences jamming into one another. Besides, over the violent tram ride, it's impossible to hear anything...</p>
<p>The automated response finishes unparroted by Barney. </p>
<p>His skin is on fire even after Gordon removes his hands, apologizing profusely, and Barney just--</p>
<p>"Why are you apologizin', Dr. Freeman? By golly, if you think I'm funny, I ain't gonna tell ya otherwise! Hey, what do you know about aliens?"</p>
<p>
  <em>Barney grins wide enough to hurt as Gordon puffs up real big, a keen look in his eye, and launches into a tirade.</em>
</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>you sit in your room, wrapped up in darkness, and think about barney calhoun. you think about black mesa. you think about college, and what your life was like outside these walls. you think about the people you met, the friends you never had, and the deadlines taunting you from the other end of the week. it all comes back to calhoun in the end.</p>
<p>he's an unknown. you can't compartmentalize him with the rest of the security team because he's become an individual. you know his face, could pick his voice out from a crowded room. he's got hazel eyes with more green flecks than brown. he swears at you in sign. </p>
<p>he remembers what you say.</p>
<p>he remembers what you do.</p>
<p>that's new. the last person to do that was kleiner.</p>
<p>(and look what you did with kleiner-- you attached to him like a lost puppy; you've become a dead weight to his career. every time you meet there's <em>disappointmentregretpity</em> in his---)</p>
<p>pain radiates throughout your hand as you squeeze the edge of your blanket. you double down on your hold for as long as you can stand it, taking comfort in the heat of your injury. the bandage restricts your movement somewhat, but you stress that too, willing the maelstrom of negative feelings to go away.</p>
<p>they abate, eventually. you're left feeling somewhat relieved, but mostly ashamed, slightly numb. </p>
<p>you wonder what calhoun is up to. </p>
<p>you wonder if it's too much to text him.</p>
<p><br/>you decide against it to the tune of the kettle whistling on your stove. you let it ring for several moments, piercing the stale air of your Black Mesa apartment. it's the little things, you think. the handle is hot, and the water steams as you pour it into a mug.</p>
<p>the water quickly darkens as the teabag's contents leeches into it-- nothing to do now except wait. </p>
<p>the clock hands read midnight, maybe a few minutes past. your tea steeps, impassive and uncaring to the exhaustion in your bones. what time was it when you tried to go to bed?</p>
<p>nine pm? something to that effect. you wonder what calhoun is doing. he could be sleeping himself, or working graveyard shift. that makes you smile. </p>
<p>"The only reason I volunteer for graveyard shifts is to look for aliens," Barney had told you, only a few days ago. "I swear to god we have them. Black Mesa's hiding them in the lower levels."</p>
<p>you had looked at him askance, a little put upon. "go on," you told him deliberately.</p>
<p>"Black Mesa's hiding them! That's why we have the military on call. Shit, my last exercise was headed by a Marine. That's weird, Doc! And, and, and," Barney had punctuated his words with a snap of his fingers, then pointed at you with conviction, "I hear some guards are issued RPGs. What the hell do we need RPGs for in a goddamn research facility, Doc?"</p>
<p>you hadn't known. you still didn't know, but you also didn't want to think about it. scientist though you may be, there were some things that were better left unknown.</p>
<p>no matter how much effort you put into the strange crystals that constituted your research here. where they came from mattered not-- this you tell yourself to maintain sanity. </p>
<p>"Why don't you tell me?" you had invited him, because letting Barney talk had been the safest option.</p>
<p>and talk he did. </p>
<p>you're surprised to feel yourself smiling as you remove the teabag, carefully depositing it into the waste bin. the conversation had lifted your spirits then, and it seemed it was doing the same now. but calhoun always seemed to have that effect-- </p>
<p>which makes you feel guilty for doubting him at times. </p>
<p>the peppermint tea scalds your tongue, stealing you away from another spiral. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Once again, Barney finds himself staring down Gordon's door, their conversation having carried them off the trams and directly into the science team's dormitories. He laughs, then sobers up fairly quickly, cutting a look at his friend.</em>
</p>
<p>"This time I really do need to get home," he starts, "but if you need anything, just call, ya hear?"</p>
<p>"I hear," Gordon replies, looking some kind of way. Embarrassed, maybe? Or just tired...</p>
<p>"Tomorrow I'll come by to help ya with the new workout routine. You had some questions, right?"</p>
<p>Gordon nods, looking relieved. "Thanks for helping me with that. I hope it's not--"</p>
<p>
  <em>"You're not troublesome, Doc," Barney says earnestly, effectively cutting him off. "Get some sleep. See ya tomorrow."</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pacing might be a little weird here! i wanted to give a proper follow up to the last chapter. these two have a mind of their own</p>
<p>thanks for all the comments and kudos!!! i really appreciate it :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. little lizard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So the young Dr. Freeman has been chosen for the next HEV suit, then?"</p>
<p>It's a coffee break between Eli Vance and Isaac Kleiner. The two scientists sit across from each other in the confines of an unused backroom of the lab, a coffee machine sat between them. Its pot is closer to empty than full.</p>
<p>"Indeed," Dr. Kleiner sighs. "He's slated for the Mark IV. The improvements over the III are substantial."</p>
<p>Eli nods. "Well, I'd hope so. We helped design it this time."</p>
<p>"I just hope he's not chosen for the Survey Teams."</p>
<p>The coffee tastes closer to tar than a true drink. Eli pours himself a third cup anyway. </p>
<p>"I heard they want him in the test chambers. When does he go in for fittings?" </p>
<p>"They said that of our last youngster. It's about... four or five months from now, if they don't accelerate it," Isaac says, voice heavy. His already aged face deepens with stress and grief. "He's running himself ragged trying to keep up with demands."</p>
<p>"We all run ourselves ragged around here," Eli points out. </p>
<p>"I just... worry for him, Eli," Isaac says softly. "He's like a son to me."</p>
<p>Eli reaches over the small table, clasping his coworker's shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. Before he can say anything else, however, there's a commotion from within the lab.</p>
<p>Isaac beats him out the door, the table shuddering as his knee strikes the leg.</p>
<p>"Is everything-- Barney! Gordon! What on earth are you two doing?" </p>
<p><em>Oh, this has to be good</em>, Eli thinks, grinning to himself. He pushes his way out of the tiny backroom, resting a hand on Isaac's shoulder to stand beside him. The door to the lab is thrown open.</p>
<p>Barney and Gordon are sprawled out on the floor. He can see Gordon's glasses knocked aside and there seems to be a box involved-- wait a second, is that--</p>
<p>"Did you two bring a lizard in here?" Eli asks, laughing. He watches the brown reptile scramble out of the box and dart underneath a desk-- Kleiner's. "Calhoun, I think that violates a number of rules for Sector C!"</p>
<p>"I didn't catch it! This numbskull--" Barney speaks through gritted teeth as he grabs Gordon, knuckling his hair, "caught it and wanted to show Kleiner."</p>
<p>At that, Gordon stops resisting, his face going bright pink. Eli laughs harder, a deep guffaw straight from the gut. </p>
<p>"That man really is your son," Eli teases, shaking his head.</p>
<p>Isaac, for his part, looks delighted.</p>
<p>Gordon yanks himself free of Barney's grip and scrambles across the floor, dragging himself underneath Isaac's desk until his knees are through the gap. Barney snatches a pen full of cups before it can fall to the floor, the same moment Gordon strikes his head on the hardwood above him. </p>
<p>The lizard skitters away. </p>
<p>"Izzy, be careful!" Eli shouts, just as Isaac Kleiner lunges for it. "Jesus!" </p>
<p>Several things happen at once-- Kleiner lunges, scooping up the lizard, while Barney grabs up the box (throwing the pens in the process), and tries to meet Kleiner halfway. They dance around each other, which prompts Eli to grab a stack of papers and slap it on top of the box before the lizard can make another grand escape.</p>
<p>Gordon makes a noise of pain. A pen snaps underneath Eli's boot.</p>
<p>"There!" Barney snarls, red in the face. </p>
<p>"Good thinking, Barney!" Isaac says, beaming. "And thank you, Eli, for the quick cover-up. Let's set the poor thing on the desk there-- we'll have to bring it to the surface soon."</p>
<p>Eli takes the box from Barney, setting it on his own desk. The lizard scratches around inside for a moment more, but is otherwise silent. </p>
<p>Gordon crawls out from beneath Isaac's desk, looking suitably ashamed and somewhat like a kicked puppy. He's rubbing his head.</p>
<p>"Awh, don't look like that, Doc," Barney says, sounding much less frustrated all of a sudden. "Hey, I've got your glasses, you want'em?"</p>
<p>Instead of offering them to the other, Barney takes the liberty to slide the frames back onto Gordon's face. Then, with a gentleness unbecoming a security guard, he helps the doctor to his feet. Gordon lingers in his arms, silent.</p>
<p>Eli looks away, hiding another laugh behind his hand.</p>
<p>Those two were already something else entirely. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>you stand on Black Mesa's surface side, an empty box at your feet. your mentor lingers at your shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest, silent as he stares into the middle distance. familiar anxiety gnaws at your stomach.</p>
<p>today had been a disaster.</p>
<p>"It's rare that any wildlife finds its way on base, Gordon," Dr. Kleiner says, his voice low and smooth.</p>
<p>just as you remember it. it's always been that way, since you were a boy. only now, it's tired.</p>
<p>"I appreciate you showing me that lizard," the man continues, smiling kindly.</p>
<p>you look at him, eyes wide. your hands hover at your sides.</p>
<p>"I was irresponsible," you settle on saying. </p>
<p>"Well, I'm happy to see you having fun, at any rate," Dr. Kleiner replies dryly. "You and Calhoun brightened my whole week." </p>
<p>fun? </p>
<p>you blink at the word, consequently blinking at kleiner. maybe you were having fun-- just a bit, for a while, before your anxiety came back in full force. </p>
<p>"It was getting tense inside the lab," you admit after a long silence.</p>
<p>the AnMat science team had been hard-pressed for a while. stress had been getting to everyone-- culminating in butting heads and passive aggressive friction between friends.</p>
<p>a part of you wanted to alleviate that, the moment you saw the reptile.</p>
<p>"That it was, Gord," Dr. Kleiner sighs. "Things will calm down soon, I'm sure. These things come in waves."</p>
<p>you stiffen as Dr. Kleiner rubs your back, but relax quickly. </p>
<p>"I'm proud of you, Gordon."</p>
<p>your breath hitches and you have to wring your hands, scratching at the back of your neck. you don't know how to reply, or react, so you fidget-- pulling at your ponytail, your shirt collar, anything, even as a relieved smile settles on your face.</p>
<p>it had been awhile since anyone had told you that. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>just some fluff for today!!! and i needed to introduce eli somehow. he'll get a better, more solid introduction later on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. crank the machine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mail from the outside comes once a month. you rifle through it now, a veritable backlog of family correspondence better sent as texts or emails. you've told them as such, but apparently there's virtue to be had in handwritten letters, even if Black Mesa screens them. you're not sure if you're going to have time to respond to them all this month.</p>
<p>probably not.</p>
<p>you slice open one envelope that has your brother's handwriting. you like your brother-- he's younger than you by a few years, an elementary school teacher. last time you heard from him, he was teaching some of the Kleiner family's kids.</p>
<p>what a small town you had lived in.</p>
<p>his letter is short, an easy skim through. he's back in college to start teaching higher grades.</p>
<p>he wants to be a physics teacher, apparently.</p>
<p>"runs in the family, i guess," he jokes on paper, ending the letter.</p>
<p>you fold it neatly and pick another envelope-- and discard it immediately, face down. it seems that even the Black Mesa mountain cannot protect you from your own mother.</p>
<p>that's all right. </p>
<p>you can protect yourself.</p>
<p>(and you do, by trimming your beard).</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>
  <em>"Officer Calhoun, please step onto the platform."</em>
</p>
<p>Officer Calhoun does. </p>
<p>The room erupts into flashing red hostility, a klaxon alarm blaring overhead. Its steady, unfailing beat guides Calhoun's footsteps as he runs forward, eyes darting back and forth, his gun already grasped firmly in his hands. The safety's on, his finger off the trigger.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Security Breach Level 1. Security Force Authorized for Lethal Action. Security Breach Level 1. Security Force--</strong>
</p>
<p>Something flashes in the corner of his eye. He turns, maneuvering so that his back is to a wall, and fires. Calhoun doesn't wait to see the result, plunging back into the arena. When his corridor abruptly ends in a wall, he leaps onto a bright red ladder.</p>
<p>Seconds are lost holstering his gun.</p>
<p>When the ladder ends, he vaults the wall and tucks into a roll, then throws his body forward when something solid rushes him.</p>
<p>it hits the ground with a metal clank. the klaxon screams, the Black Mesa woman roars, and Officer Calhoun flees the metal contraption but it chases him--</p>
<p>it's new, this isn't just a performance check, </p>
<p>
  <strong>Security Force Authorized for Lethal Action.</strong>
</p>
<p>Calhoun wedges himself into a falsified piece of labyrinth, the metal clanking distinct underneath the alarm, his gun already at the ready. The thing had a definitive skull, neck, and body, its legs stilt-like but not humanoid.</p>
<p>The wall his back is pressed against shudders. Calhoun snaps away, vision filled with metal-squeeze-light-<strong><em>BANG</em></strong></p>
<p>his eyes burn and his ears ring</p>
<p>he stumbles climbing over the machine, right onto the final platform.</p>
<p>Instantly, the noise stops.</p>
<p>
  <em>"Officer Calhoun, you have completed your monthly Black Mesa Security Force Assessment. Your results will be given to you by your Squadron Leader. Have a Very Safe Day."</em>
</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The locker room feels too small with the entire Squad inside. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, impersonal and sanitized, unforgiving in their assessment of the Security Force. Every dent, ding, and stain is revealed, made uglier by the artificial rays. Barney stares at one now through the shoulders of two younger compatriots, wondering if it was blood, food, or shit that streaked the tiles there.</p>
<p>No way of knowing. He wonders if Freeman would be able to find out in that lab of his.</p>
<p>Maybe.</p>
<p>The group shifts and steps around each other as one by one, Otis calls them forward, then sends them on their way with a yellow folder in hand. The Black Mesa stamp glints wetly from where Barney can see it-- either fresh ink or some kind of sticker. He's too tired to discern the difference.</p>
<p>It's hot in this crowd of bodies. The heat fails to abate even as more of his coworkers leave.</p>
<p>He blames the recently-run hot showers whose steam still fogs the mirrors. Maybe he blames the shakiness in his hands, the waves of heat that make his face flush and his muscles burn, or the lingering sense of danger that makes his neck hair stand on end.</p>
<p>Maybe he blames the sharp bellow of "Cal-<em>houn!</em>" that makes him jump, hands grasping for nothing, boots squeaking as he spurs into action.</p>
<p>"Good job out there," Otis says. "You've got the weekend off. Go get some rest, Barn. Looks like you need it."</p>
<p>Barney just nods, the yellow folder crumpling at the corners where his hands clutch it. </p>
<p>The trek home is lonely. But Black Mesa is blessedly cold topside when the sun's gone underground.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>the Black Mesa firing range is well-equipped. you've never been to an indoor range before, so you're careful to adhere to the rules and wear ear protection. you get strange looks from some of the others-- but that's alright; beyond being used to strange looks, you're also a scientist, a rare sight in this neck of the compound.</p>
<p>thankfully, the range provided firearms for practice, accepting cash for practice ammunition. unfortunately, you're out of practice, wasting shots getting a feel for the gun.</p>
<p>guns were not unfamiliar to you. you had carried one throughout college, then grad school, encouraged by experiences best left forgotten. </p>
<p>your last shot in the clap hits perfect center. you move immediately to put in six more bullets, but--</p>
<p>Barney's there, his nose wrinkled.</p>
<p>"Come here often, Doc?"</p>
<p>"Not to this range, no."</p>
<p>"You're not a bad shot, for someone wearing glasses."</p>
<p>A grin, a gentle jab. </p>
<p>"Probably means the glasses are doing their jobs."</p>
<p>you try to grin back, return some of the humor, but you haven't got enough heart in it. it must translate, because barney's expression becomes pinched, making you feel a little bad.</p>
<p>"Take the spot next to me. We'll see who's better," you say, gesturing on to the empty space, teeth bared in a grin.</p>
<p>barney beats you handily. honestly, you'd be worried if he didn't. </p>
<p>when you say as much, he laughs.</p>
<p>(it's strained)</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>for the first time, you two sit together and have a cold beer in the safety of Calhoun's dorm. the TV's display warps into a flurry of colors every now and again but it doesn't diminish the copy of Community he's put on. it acts as background noise to the two of you--</p>
<p>cooking.</p>
<p>or something to that effect.</p>
<p>barney's doing most of the work while you sit back and observe, the alcohol making you pleasantly warm, and acutely aware of how much Barney dwarfs you in size. he may be shorter, but his shoulders are wide, arms thick with muscle. he's not lacking in thighs either, and if you were drinking something stronger, you might have squeezed his ass.<br/> <br/>it was a very nice ass, the nicest you've ever seen. </p>
<p>you wonder what he'd do if you told him.</p>
<p>"Hey, Doc, can you hand me those mushrooms?" </p>
<p>wordlessly, you press the cup of chopped mushrooms into his outstretched hand. as he dumps them into the sizzling pan, you pull him around to make sure he's looking.</p>
<p>"You should call me Gordon. It's been long enough."</p>
<p>"Then you gotta call me Barney or somethin', D-- Gord! Gordon," Barney laughs, tossing the ingredients of the pan with practiced ease. "Come on, you haven't called me anything but 'Calhoun' or 'Officer' since we met."</p>
<p>was that true? you can't really recall, taking another sip of beer. </p>
<p>him calling you Gordon had felt nice. pleasant. more than that, even.</p>
<p>"Barney," you say, then wave your hands through the air in excitement, only flapping harder when Barney looks at you with unmistakable joy.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Sunday morning finds Barney stumbling out of his room and into a suspiciously clean apartment, evidence of last night reduced to nothing but a scientist asleep on his couch. He stares in confusion for a long moment. It's definitely Gordon, but without the usual stress and tension, he looks like a completely different person. And once again, the man's shirtless, just as he had been last time. His pale skin is decorated with freckles. Evidence of burgeoning muscle show in his folded arms which are partially obscured by the sheer amount of red curls on his head. Barney can't help but smile at that and reminds himself to get out the wide-toothed comb when Gordon wakes up.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i've never been to an indoor shooting range. also, black mesa is a weird company.</p>
<p>i tried to intersperse plot with fluff and relationships n stuff</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. vent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>you're 30 minutes late to work. you're not sure if that matters once you get inside your shared office because both of your esteemed colleagues are on the floor, rummaging through old files and folders. the filing cabinets that held these piles are practically disassembled-- the drawers are arranged haphazardly around Vance and Kleiner. you skirt the edges of the mess, setting your tray of apology coffee on your desk.</p>
<p>they don't notice you. </p>
<p>and you don't really... care. not right now, anyway. the sheer amount of mess on the floor makes something in your brain cringe-- where the hell did they start? where do they end? what could drive them to such urgency as to destroy the carefully ordered backlog of studies and research? had there been a memo you missed about this?</p>
<p>well, if you had missed it, you sure as hell weren't going to look for it. you knew what you wanted from life, and it wasn't this. besides, it wasn't like they had explicitly--</p>
<p>you stop yourself. there's order to everything, provided you have the wherewithal to create it yourself. you could insert yourself between them, make your presence known, but that's... </p>
<p><em>what am i willing to put up with today?</em> you ask yourself. <em>i don't think it's this. i have a better idea.</em></p>
<p>you take a long drag of iced coffee, letting the slightly bitter notes cauterize your decision. then, as silently as you arrived, you walk right back out of the office.</p>
<p>if they really need you, they'll call. you'll check back in a couple hours at the very least.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>the Black Mesa ventilation system was, predictably, a labyrinth. its tunnels were narrow but sometimes opened up into larger canals or turned right into slowly whirling fan blades that pulled or pushed air. you peeked out of every grate you came across- even though you've been in here an hour, you haven't left Sector C. familiar AnMat labs and offices peer back at you.</p>
<p>your shoulder catches on a metal corner as you cut it too close. one shaft narrows dramatically, forcing you to tuck in your elbows and bow your head. you wonder how barney crawled his way through here-- even though you were taller, he was broader by a mile. would his shoulders even fit in the vent you entered through?</p>
<p>you bow your head at the thought. barney had really nice shoulders-- you had the pleasure of seeing them bare exactly once so far, whilst he was helping you with weight training. his muscle was evident, but he wasn't hard angles and flat planes. no, barney had dangerous slopes and curves, soft in appearance but firm in actuality. </p>
<p>well, you imagined they were firm. his hands certainly were as he corrected your form or patted you on the back. at certain angles, you could see the stretch marks patterning his upper arms. a strange pattern of old scars decorated his stomach too-- that piqued your curiosity, but it hadn't been the time to ask, nor the time to pry.</p>
<p>you shake your head. the vent shafts had opened back up, enough so to permit you sitting upright. that probably wasn't a good sign. you peek through the slats of a grate, one conveniently placed underneath you.</p>
<p>unfamiliar corridor with nonsense wall markings.</p>
<p>definitely not Anomalous Materials.</p>
<p><em>i should turn around</em>, you think,<em> now that i have the space. but i don't remember how i got here.</em></p>
<p><em>barney's not even here and he's still distracting me</em>, you think despairingly.<em> aren't i supposed to be nearly 30? what the hell am i doing?</em></p>
<p>maybe this is how all first crushes or infatuations worked. now that you were settled down, accepted (mostly), and comfortable somewhere, it was time for you to latch onto the first friendly man you met and wonder if his lips were as soft as they looked. sure, you had had flings and such in grad, but they were just that-- flings. you only ever performed touch n' go's with people in the past.</p>
<p>you were scared of commitment. relationships were a minefield of expectations, implications, and social rules you understood less than the standard set. besides, you had committed before and gotten hurt. </p>
<p>more than once, it had been a trick or a joke or misfired signals. data suggested it would happen again, but as you had considered before, barney calhoun was a brand new variable. maybe he would be the one to break the pattern.</p>
<p>the next grate you peek through has a face staring back at you.</p>
<p>it's awfully familiar.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>on some stroke of luck, it's barney to find you, which you're unsure how to feel about beyond embarrassed. after all, he had been the one to occupy your thoughts for the past 30 minutes. stained mental images of his shoulders and stomach flash helpfully in your mind, causing you to blush. it takes far too long for you to catch what he's saying.</p>
<p>he's gotten good at sign, at least. </p>
<p>"I was exploring," you say, cutting him off. "You gave me the idea."</p>
<p>"Did I?" Barney asks, laughing a little. "What, when we met?"</p>
<p>you nod, scratching your beard. you forgot to trim and shave this morning.</p>
<p>"Do you know how to get back?" </p>
<p>"Probably," you say. "Where are we?"</p>
<p>just as you finish signing, a deep vibrating hum overtakes the corridor. it grows in volume and intensity to the point of settling in your bones, but it's over just as quickly as it began. surprised, you look at barney for answers.</p>
<p>he looks... uneasy.</p>
<p>"They call that the test chamber. No idea what's in there, but I wager it's got somethin' to do with aliens, y'know? But you ain't supposed to be here without clearance, Doc," Barney explains, his voice suddenly patient but edged. "Hey, you wanna see the HEV suits? There's a couple still in there." He jerks his thumb behind him, that phantom edge gone and replaced with a goofy, eager lilt.</p>
<p>oh.</p>
<p>you try not to react too overtly. so this is where you'd be spending your days in the next few months? you nod, slightly excited, somewhat apprehensive.</p>
<p>"Great! Walk with purpose, Doc. It's on this way."</p>
<p>and so you fall into step behind him, striding "with purpose." barney leads you directly to a slightly closed-off room that drops off a level. within its confines stands a large contraption that further contained three pods. two were lit green and full, the third empty, shining red.</p>
<p>the HEV suits-- Hazardous Environment suits-- seemed to float within their pods. bright orange armour, black, indeterminable material underneath, with heavy gloves, boots, and helmets to match. you fiddle with your glasses uncertainly. despite being selected, you hadn't seen one in person yet.</p>
<p>they were rather unassuming to some degree, nothing belying their capabilities beyond protection. they also looked far lighter than the booklet you received suggested.</p>
<p>briefly, you wonder if the test chamber is where you would also undergo the looming "hazard training" in a few months. </p>
<p>"Got a good look, Gordon? Here, you can take this vent back to AnMat. Don't worry, I won't let anyone know you were here," Barney says, grinning good-naturedly. he pries off the grate, ushering you inside.</p>
<p>"Before I go," you say, clasping his shoulder and bringing him around. "I want to tell you something. Can we get drinks at my place tonight?"</p>
<p>barney blinks in surprise, then wiggles as he grins and nods. "'Course, Gordon! Shoot, I'm off at seven tonight. That good?" </p>
<p>you nod. that was perfect. without saying anything else, you fold yourself up and disappear into the HVAC system once more. hopefully, no one will have noticed your absence.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>the grate leading back into the office falls with a messy clatter onto the smooth tile. you flinch at the sound, it grating on your ears, but force yourself to drop down after it. the impact goes straight through the soles of your shoes and into your ankles.</p>
<p>it hurts, but you're rewarded with two startled shouts, then laughter.</p>
<p>"Gordon! Goodness, I was wondering where you were," Dr. Vance says, chuckling. he's standing behind you, so you slowly turn around, glasses still held to your face. "How long were you up there?"</p>
<p>"Lost track of time," you say, shrugging. </p>
<p>"What on earth were you doing in the vents? Do you know how dangerous that is?!"</p>
<p>you wince. Kleiner. carefully, you put your back to your desk so you can better face your coworkers. on some level, you note that the mess of files and folders is gone. cleaned up, vacuumed back into their cabinet home.</p>
<p>"Look at you. You've got dust and all sorts of muck on your coat. You didn't get hurt, did you? Did you get lost?"</p>
<p>Kleiner has his hands on his hips even as he frets over you with a restrained fatherly aura. you entertain throwing barney under the bus very briefly, but decide against it.</p>
<p>you were 27. not 12.</p>
<p>"I only got a little lost," you admit, smiling faintly. "I ran into Barn. I think a few more runs and I'll have the layout memorized."</p>
<p>"Let the man breathe, Izzy. Say, did you find the route into Kleiner's lab?" Dr. Vance steps in, smiling with that always-easy expression. at your nod, he laughs heartily. "Very good! Maybe now we won't have to wait for ol' Calhoun to rescue him from lockouts. Was that your goal?"</p>
<p>you shrug, rubbing the back of your neck, suddenly anxious at the attention. </p>
<p>"Calhoun, bless his soul, is going to lead to my early death," Kleiner laments, shaking his head.</p>
<p>that doesn't sound very fair on barney. you scratch at your beard, the bristles rough under your fingertips. how much did you need to explain your actions?</p>
<p>not really very much. </p>
<p>"How was work?" you ask instead. they both launch into recounts of their day, which mostly involve trying to find an old study that corroborated a present-time experiment. you don't mention that the entire database is digitized. </p>
<p>sometimes, even paper gets lonely.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>before you leave for the night, an hour shy of your meeting with barney, Eli Vance pulls you off to the side. you worry slightly, gnawing at your lip.</p>
<p>"Could you let Barney know that I might need him for some babysitting soon? My wife and I are going to the cinema this weekend, and he's usually my first option," the doctor explains, looking giddy at the mere thought.</p>
<p>you release a relieved breath.</p>
<p>"Sure," you say slowly. "I'll tell him tonight."</p>
<p>"Great! Thanks so much, Gordon."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Barney raps his knuckles across Gordon's door, sharp and brief, then rolls back on his heels, shifting his weight with uncharacteristic uncertainty. Gordon had looked awfully serious when asking if they could get drinks. Either something terrible had occurred, this was a love confession, or something else entirely.</p>
<p>He wouldn't really mind if it was a confession. Gordon was cute, and he was gay.</p>
<p>Then again, he had no way of knowing how Gordon swung, if he swung at all. He'd hate to strain their burgeoning relationship with an errant crush, but there was always the hope it would fizzle out in time. Not that they ever did.</p>
<p>He was a hopeless romantic in that regard. Things always looked sweeter when you could never have them.</p>
<p>The door opens, squeaking slightly on its hinges. Gordon smiles down at him with shining eyes, looking far more casual and relaxed than he had earlier today.</p>
<p>"Sorry I'm late, Gordon," Barney says, stepping in after him. "Tram takes a bit to traverse this place, y'know?"</p>
<p>Gordon nods in agreement. "Don't sweat it. I got takeout and drinks for us, is that alright?" </p>
<p>"Always is, boss," Barney says reflexively, grinning. Already he can smell the scent of the food-- boxed up and ready on the kitchen table. He hangs back while Gordon goes about divvying up the food.</p>
<p>Before he hands Barney his plate, however, a booklet makes it there first. It's not very thick, stamped with the Black Mesa logo, and entirely black and white.</p>
<p>The table chair squeaks against the tile as he finagles it underneath him.</p>
<p>"Hazardous Environment Suit Introductory Manual?" Barney reads aloud, blinking. "Shit, are you gonna be doin' Hazard stuff, Gordon?"</p>
<p>That was big. Had to be, right? Gordon was already impressive with his PhD and decisive career at 27, but this was like icing on the cake. All he knew about HEV guys were rumors and hearsay, but this suddenly made them feel very real.</p>
<p>"I might be," Gordon says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I have to pass some tests first. It's supposed to be secret, but..."</p>
<p>Well, then. </p>
<p>Barney picks through his food as he mulls this over. </p>
<p>"Then it's our secret," he says, pointing his chopsticks at Gordon. "And we're gonna keep trainin' that hot bod so you won't fail."</p>
<p>At that, Gordon's pale face goes entirely too red and he chokes on his latest morsel of food. Barney claps him on the back while trying to repress laughter, mussing up his hair once the danger is clear.</p>
<p>"Don't die on me yet, Gord," Barney teases, his own face dusted pink. God, he really just said that out loud.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. dr. feelgood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw for needles; testosterone shot</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>you didn't like needles, but quickly learned not to fear them once you started hormones. now you sit in your bathroom every two weeks and give yourself a shot, as carefully and methodically as you can. there once was a time where Kleiner helped you-- but that was many years ago, when you were just a boy. you think about it now as you withdraw the needle, carefully apply surrounding pressure, and disinfect the site.</p>
<p>you slap a bandaid over it in the next moment. it's decorated with tiny clownfish, a joke to yourself. before kleiner, you had wanted to be a marine biologist. now you think it's funny that you now live in a desert.</p>
<p>there's no water in the desert. there's no fish in black mesa.</p>
<p>there's a commotion outside your door. startled, you step outside, towel still wrapped around your waist. you tread down the hall into the bigger living area-- and, well. </p>
<p>there's barney calhoun. you had honestly forgotten he'd spent the night with you. how many times was it now? this was only the second. even so, you're unsure if that's "normal" friend procedure.</p>
<p>then again, most people don't work for black mesa. what's "normal" here?</p>
<p>you watch barney in silence while he navigates your kitchen, clearly still heavy with sleep. the clock reads 9 am. huh, so Barney slept in a little. he cusses as he sets a pan down a little too hard.</p>
<p>he's pretty, messy from sleep. his hair- usually styled, in spite of a mandatory helmet-- is a mess of clumps and cowlicks, his chin darker with stubble. logically, he's still wearing the clothes from yesterday. </p>
<p>you decide that you should finish cleaning up once you notice the beer stain on his shirt. it's not good to ogle your friend like that, probably. the bathroom door clicks shut behind you. shave, comb, teeth, dress. try to get barney out of your head even as the scent of breakfast fills your nose.</p>
<p>you fail spectacularly. he makes your heart flutter.</p>
<p>this time, you make yourself known. you rap your knuckles across the wall, only waving hello when he looks up at you. his face is-- unreadable, transgressing several emotions that you can't parse. you think he looks happy to see you.</p>
<p>"Everything okay?" you ask, slowly standing beside him.</p>
<p>"Yeah, of course!" Barney says, a bit breathless. "When'd you get up?" </p>
<p>"A couple hours ago," you admit. "What are you cooking?"</p>
<p>"Oh, you know. Omelets, peppers. Toast," Barney replies and-- there it is again. something off about his voice, wrapped up in the weirdness of his expression.</p>
<p>"I'm going to have to buy you a proper beer at this rate," you sigh, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. "Isn't there a bar top-side?"</p>
<p>Barney makes a weird noise, but nods vigorously, all while flipping the contents of the pan. a stray mushroom falls onto the induction stovetop. you pluck it up and stick it in your mouth.</p>
<p>"I mean-- Gordon, that's hot-- there is. It's actually really close to the Security team dorms. I hear there's one by Vance's place, too."</p>
<p>the mushroom is hot. but it tastes good, so you weather it, all while trying to think of why Vance in particular is ringing so many bells. you work with Vance, of course, but--</p>
<p>you slap Barney's shoulder with the weight of your realization.</p>
<p>"Vance wants you to babysit today!"</p>
<p>"Wh- what?" Barney gasps, transferring the omelet to one of your few ceramic plates. "Today? When? What?" </p>
<p>"I think so," you say, finally removing your weight from his shoulder. barney looks a little red, a little overwhelmed. you wait for him to finish before continuing. "Are you okay?"</p>
<p>"'Course I am, Gordon. Hey, babysit these eggs for me. I gotta text Eli."</p>
<p>Barney dumps the rest of the beaten eggs into the pan, which... you're not entirely sure what to do with. omelets don't get stirred around like scrambled eggs, do they? you hover around the pan, watching the eggs cook, until barney slips his phone back into his pocket.</p>
<p>"Come on, I'll show you," Barney says-- and takes your hands in his own. "Do you want to babysit Alyx with me tonight? After that, we can go to that bar..."</p>
<p>you nod your head without really thinking about it. barney's hands are calloused, his grip strong but gentle, pleasant in every way. you let him use your hands to manipulate the omelet, only taking initiative to dump in the cheese and vegetables. then, carefully, you both fold the eggs over on themselves. </p>
<p>"Jesus, Gordon, you've got some muscle on ya, huh?" Barney remarks, squeezing your bicep before, finally, disentangling from you. you wheeze out, squeaking. "I wish I put on muscle this fast. Took me a year!"</p>
<p>it's been nearly three months, you want to protest. also, it wasn't like you were completely inert before-- the HEV suit just demanded more. but your hands won't move so you just stand and watch Barney jimmy the plates around.</p>
<p>you sit down when he tells you to, of course, but your skin is tingling from where he squeezed. good god, was this what a crush was like? </p>
<p>"Food looks good," you say, then you both dig in.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The Vances had a top-side apartment in the Sector reserved for Science team employees with family. Across from the sector were the Security team families, which Barney was more familiar with, on account of some old Security pals. He points out the doors he recognizes to Gordon as they pass through, musing aloud about their well-being or status.</p>
<p>"James is pretty weird, but a good guy," Barney says, waving a hand as he speaks. "He's got this gnarly scar but won't say where it's from, y'know? Got it on the job, though. And it don't look like no hardware, Gord, so I'm bettin' for sure he ran into some critter underground."</p>
<p>"Aliens?" Gordon asks, aiming a faintly amused look at him, mouth quirked into a lopsided smile.</p>
<p>"He works in biology, man!" Barney protests, waving his arms. "Well, did, anyway. He's a manager now for that department, lucky bastard."</p>
<p>The sun is sliding down, kissing the horizon. On the other end of the sky, the first threads of night are trickling in, and with it, a dazzling array of stars.<em> That's one good thing about Black Mesa</em>, Barney thinks. <em>No light pollution this far out nowhere.</em></p>
<p>"I don't know how helpful I'll be with Alyx, Barn," Gordon laments once more, his amusement fading back to anxiety.</p>
<p>"Don't sweat it, Gord. She's the size of a watermelon and about as smart, to boot."</p>
<p>"You can't call children watermelons," Gordon replies, looking distressed. He folds his arms across his chest as they, finally, approach Eli's apartment door. It has "Vance" stamped across it in childish lettering.</p>
<p>Azian opens the door fairly quickly, to which Barney waves enthusiastically.</p>
<p>"Barney! And this must be Gordon, yes? It's good to finally meet you," Azian says easily, smiling. She ushers them inside, looking for all the world like a queen. "We'll only be gone for a couple hours, but we'll pay you for any extra time."</p>
<p>"No, no, no, ma'am. No payment here! I've been tellin' y'all that for months," Barney says, shaking his head. "I saw that twenty you slipped last time. I gave it right back to Eli."</p>
<p>"When will you accept gratitude, Barney?" Azian shoots back, but there's no venom in her voice. They laugh together then, a brief shower of camaraderie, broken only by the arrival of one Alyx Vance.</p>
<p>"Unko Barn!" Alyx shouts, racing past her mother to bulldoze directly into Barney's legs. With an exaggerated "<em>oof</em>", the man goes down, then scoops Alyx into his arms.</p>
<p>"Long time no see, kiddo! How've you been? What're you doin'?" </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>to your delight, Alyx knows some sign. you manage to hold surprisingly in-depth, if somewhat confusing, conversations with her while Barney sets up a movie. she has a lot of energy to her so you're content to let her do the running around. at some point, she ropes you into art, then Barney settles down beside you to join in. it's nice, undemanding; you relax into Barney's side, doodling aimlessly.</p>
<p>the next couple hours pass by in a breeze. you realize that's because you fell asleep, face mushed into Barney's shoulder. Eli Vance's familiar, warm voice can be heard drifting from the doorway.</p>
<p>"Come on, Gord. We can leave now."</p>
<p>with a wheeze, you climb to your feet, eyes darting to get your bearings. alyx was gone-- either asleep or tackling her parents, you couldn't be sure which. your face is warm. when you touch it, imprints of Barney's shirt are there.</p>
<p>oops.</p>
<p>"Sorry," you sign, holding back a yawn. you sleepily follow after him.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>you end up going to the bar closest to Eli's apartment. a brief glance around reveals no one you recognize, which you're alright with. a sign in the mouth of the entrance boasts cheap drinks and a never-before-seen karaoke night. loud music rolling through the establishment's speakers seems to confirm this.</p>
<p>"This place has more traffic than I expected," Barney says, guiding you to the counter. you climb onto the stool he pulls out for you. "Y'know, for a bunch of old geezers."</p>
<p>you scrunch your face up at his assessment. how offended should you be? </p>
<p>"I work with those geezers," you say instead, nudging his shoulder. "Be nice."</p>
<p>he laughs, loud and warm. you rest your chin in your hands, content to take in the extent of his smile and flashing teeth. the low light of the bar catches his eyes just so-- bright flecks of green, dull ring of brown. </p>
<p>maybe you shouldn't have taken that nap, impromptu as it was. </p>
<p>"Order whatever you want," you insist. "I'm paying tonight."</p>
<p>"I'll try not to drink you out of house and home, then," Barney snorts. "Say, you ever drink the Black Mesa IPA?"</p>
<p>you shake your head. Black Mesa made its own beer? that was... concerning, to say the least. </p>
<p>"Then we'll get two rounds of that," Barney says.</p>
<p>it's... not your favorite beer ever, but it is cheap, so you're content to keep sipping at it while Barney downs at least two glasses. there's a man singing along to rolling lyrics on screen, his performance egged on by other patrons. to his credit, it's not a horrible rendition. </p>
<p>but you also don't know the song, so who knows how bad it is.</p>
<p>"I'm thinkin'," Barney starts, body half-turned toward the karaoke station. "Of doin' that."</p>
<p>he's not facing you, so you don't bother replying. you finish off your first glass while waiting for him to continue. there's a few more people in the bar. the volume, while not extreme, is jumbled enough to make you feel cornered.</p>
<p>"I'm gonna get on in there, yeah," Barney says decisively. "I'm gonna be the best voice in here, Gord, so listen close."</p>
<p>he turns toward you in a flourish, cocksure and determined, reminiscent of when you first met him. you're struck by that thought. barney was a good guy, so much more than your initial impression of him. smart, resourceful, funny. handsome.</p>
<p>you get up from the bar to follow him to a table closer to the screen. none are empty, so you elect to stand instead, tucked in on yourself to be as small as possible. the multicolored lights shine down on barney.</p>
<p>they cast weird shadows, but he still looks confident and happy, especially as the song he chose came on. it's a rock piece you can't identify, but the other patrons seem to. their energy immediately spikes.</p>
<p>the audience shouts with the supporting vocals, whooping and hollering as Barney growls into the mic. he is a good singer, you realize dimly. he's also full of energy. his entire body moves with him as he sings. in lieu of the lyrics, he looks straight at you.</p>
<p>you look straight back. there's power in his shoulders, strength in his legs. with surprising litheness he weaves his way through the tables, wire trailing after him. </p>
<p>
  <em>I've got one thing you'll understand!</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I'm not what you call a glamorous man...</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But I've got this thing that's easily understood!</em>
</p>
<p>Barney stops singing then. The mic is forgotten, tossed haphazardly behind him once the wire is too taut. He's intent on you, you're intent on him. Rock music blares through the bar speakers, louder then ever--</p>
<p>the people are loud, there's voices, whooping, screaming, Barney's face inches from yours, warm hands, a mouth--</p>
<p>panicked, you punch underneath Barney's jaw, putting your height and weight behind it. with space between you two, you turn and run, fleeing the crowded confines of the bar and into the cold outside to the tune of the song's final dying notes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter is longer than average, whoops. it got away from me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. hickeys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunlight filters in through a slit between Barney's curtains, illuminating a bedroom that was small only because of the furniture stuffed inside. A short, squat bookshelf took the brunt of the light, revealing well-worn books that spoke of history, government, and conspiracies. Knickknacks of varying type littered its flat top, spilling over to a wardrobe and then the end table by the head of the bed. </p>
<p>Barney knocks one such decoration down now as he thrusts an arm out from beneath heavy covers, slapping the top of a screaming alarm clock. It shuts down with a dying chirp. Without it, the room is silent, even a little stuffy.</p>
<p>The weight of yesterday is heavier than the duvet covering him. But it's the latter that he can shrug off his body and forget. Anxiety, bright and vague, gnaws at his stomach. A compulsive check of his phone shows no new messages, calls, or other tempting notifications beyond another e-delivery of the Black Mesa Times. Nauseating silence from the always-silent Freeman.</p>
<p>Fitting, he supposes. But he's too stubborn to let it lie, an impulse that surprises him into cutting his chin whilst shaving. The sting of pain and the slight bead of blood makes him sigh. His shift was Sector C today-- to swing by and meet Gordon would be a simple matter of will. They had to talk. He had to apologize.</p>
<p>Hell, he hadn't even been drunk. Buzzed, even tipsy maybe, but there had been a dozen more occasions where he had exercised far more self-control in similar circumstances. What made his control slip then? Seeing Gordon actually pursue him, or had he wanted to do something drastic because Gordon was always so tense? The man was stiff, anxious, hesitant. He had shrunk in on himself in the bar crowd.</p>
<p>The comb snags on a tangle. Angrily, Barney attacks it, then fights through any other knots. His scalp is smarting by the time he gets his hair to a suitable state, upon which he gels it into the familiar slick. Good enough. It'll stay under his helmet.</p>
<p>His alarm clock blinks 7:15 at him. The mirror impassively reveals a stripe of bruising near his throat. Barney touches on it thoughtfully. Gordon had a helluva punch behind him, he had to admit. If it had landed anywhere else, he might have bit his tongue or lost a tooth. Thankfully, it was just his breathing for 30 minutes.</p>
<p>With luck, it'd be something for them to laugh at later on. </p>
<p>But Barney wasn't a lucky guy. He should have been more wary when the past three months went without incident. Instead, he had gandered blindly, and messed up.</p>
<p>He cinches his tie around his throat while kicking his bedroom door shut behind him. </p>
<p>"Mornin', Barney," says a voice behind him. He tenses up, slowly turning to face his roommate. "Damn, you look like shit."</p>
<p>"Better shit than you," he retorts. "You hungover, Hank? Jesus Christ."</p>
<p>Hank, his roommate, did look... pretty rough. Bags under his eyes, hair a mess, and a grimace that betrayed a pounding headache. A familiar appearance for Barney to recognize.</p>
<p>"So what if I am? Hey, is Gordon here? You said he might be comin' last night."</p>
<p>Had he said that? He did warn Hank before bringing anyone over, if only to get the man to control himself. </p>
<p>"No, he's not," Barney snaps before he can stop himself. With a sigh, he disappears down the hall and into the bulk of their apartment.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The tram-assisted commute into the guts of Black Mesa was made only marginally better by a book. Each squeak and bump of the cart made the words swim, sure, but by the time it rolled to a stop, he had learned a lot more about military collaboration with other worldly forces. Some of which, he noted dully, that even Gordon would be interested in.</p>
<p>But that wasn't really an avenue he could take right now.</p>
<p>Sighing, he lets himself off the tram, ID already out to confront the security check.</p>
<p>"Cutting it close, Calhoun?" Brent asks, raising an eyebrow. The panel beeps as his ID is accepted. "Say, what's with your neck? Get a little action last night?"</p>
<p><em>If God loved me, then maybe</em>, Barney thinks, then curses himself. "None of your business, Brent. I'll see you around."</p>
<p>He steps through the metal doors just before they close. Once he leaves the mantrap, it's just Sector C from here. And all the scientists it contained.</p>
<p>If he buzzes the halls before checking in with Otis, well, who can blame him?</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>He can blame himself. His cursory search yielded nothing, which really didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things, but it still filled him with a mixture of anxiety, shame, and dread. Man, if Gordon was skipping out on work because of last night...</p>
<p>"Barney! Earth to Calhoun, you ain't being paid to space off here!"</p>
<p>"I ain't spacin' off, Otis," Barney snaps back, turning to look at the manager. "What were you sayin'?"</p>
<p>The office was a bit messy. Apparently, a lot of guards had wanted to shift colors, which meant a lot of paperwork for poor Otis. That didn't stop him from lifting a glazed doughnut from the half-full box on his desk, though.</p>
<p>"Take this mail to Kleiner's office. No idea why, but I've got a bunch of Science Team mail in here. Guessin' all our mail went to the wrong place, too," Otis explains, pressing a thick parcel into Barney's hands.</p>
<p>He turns it over, examining it. Maybe he could ask Kleiner for advice... The man was practically Gordon's father. </p>
<p>God dammit.</p>
<p>"No problem. See ya in twenty, Otis," Barney says, hopping off the table to leave. </p>
<p>"And cover up those hickeys! They're unsightly!"</p>
<p>At this point, he was <em>wishing</em> it was a hickey. Way better to think about then getting punched in the throat.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The shared office was devoid of both Eli Vance and Gordon Freeman, Barney notes with a pang. He raps his knuckles across the open door all the same, brandishing the package of mail.</p>
<p>"Got a gift with your name on it, Doc," Barney announces, smiling lazily. "Care to take it off my hands?"</p>
<p>"Oh, Barney! It's good to see you," Kleiner says, getting to his feet. They meet halfway, a passing of the torch. </p>
<p>If only those papers were on fire.</p>
<p>"Good to see you, too, Doc. How's the lab? Still lockin' yourself out?"</p>
<p>"No, no. Dr. Freeman is very good at keeping the keys in order."</p>
<p>A damn shame, really. Rat-running to unlock the scientist's lab was his favorite part of the month. Maybe he'd have to convince Gordon to let them slip every now and again.</p>
<p>He winces at the thought.</p>
<p>"Say, speaking of Dr. Freeman, where is he? Is he alright?" Barney asks, suddenly keen. He tries to affect a less personal air, but for once, he has no idea how to direct his body language. </p>
<p>Dr. Kleiner hums, contemplative. "He's quite alright! He won't be in the labs this week, however. Perhaps you can catch him in the training bunks underground? The Hazard Course, maybe, but that's merely a hypothesis."</p>
<p>The... Hazard Course, huh. Must be for the HEV suit. Barney nods, then checks around the room to make sure no one snuck in while he wasn't looking.</p>
<p>Still empty.</p>
<p>"Guess he started HEV training, huh? Actually, Doc, I need some advice..."</p>
<p>A look enters Kleiner's eye, something sharp and keen and distinctly dad-like. Barney touches his throat subconsciously, wondering what could have triggered that kind of expression. <em>It's not a hickey,</em> he wants to protest. <em>I tried to kiss your boy and he punched me. </em></p>
<p>A perfectly suitable response, honestly.</p>
<p>Kleiner closes the office door with a soft click. "Now, Barney, I don't want to jump to conclusions, so I'll let you explain yourself. What do you need help with? A girl? Gordon?"</p>
<p>Well, thank God for someone having sense. But that was only a marginal sense of relief.</p>
<p>"Theoretically," Barney starts, throat a bit dry, then stops. "Actually, maybe I can figure it out myself. Thanks, Doc."</p>
<p>"So it is about Gordon," Kleiner says, reaching out to touch Barney's shoulder. He tenses at the reach, face hot with embarrassment. </p>
<p>"Theoretically," Barney replies. "I gotta apologize to him first, Doc. I kinda messed up."</p>
<p>"I heard. Magnusson was quite scandalized," Kleiner says sagely. "But worry not, Barney! I'm sure you two will make it out just fine. Perhaps better than fine, even. Have some faith, won't you?"</p>
<p>Dunno about that one, Barney thinks, but keeps his mouth shut. "How the hell did <em>Magnusson</em> hear? But.. ya think so, Doc?" </p>
<p>"That man was there, Calhoun. And I know so, Barney. Now run along! I'll call you if I need anything."</p>
<p>With that, Kleiner ushers Barney back out into the wild world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hoogh. bantry cal.</p>
<p>this chapter might not be very good!!! im still figuring out my barney, and this was mostly to keep the momentum forward!!! if i stop writing, this fic will die!!!!</p>
<p>also for my benefit: technology is on par with like 2day's tech. sorry guys</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. crani crus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a lot of places Barney's supposed to be. Level 4 Classified was not one of them. Hell, Blue Shift didn't even operate on Level 4, but if a scientist says jump, security can only say how high, Doc? So it goes when the meanest white coat around hails Barney down in the middle of undressing, claiming that he's needed immediately and he's the only one who can do it.</p>
<p>Bullshit, Barney knows. No security guard knew more than the other 'round here. They kept themselves stupid by principle-- then again, that might only be due to the inexplicable "they vs. them" mentality. Scientists and Security were content not to fraternize. Black Mesa was content to keep'em separated.</p>
<p>Two positively charged electrons, Gordon would have said, or magnets. </p>
<p>"I'm clocked out," Barney had protested, blue shirt unbuttoned. "Shoulda caught me five minutes ago."</p>
<p>"I asked Otis for your help specifically, and he said you're all mine," the whitecoat said haughtily. "So if you would be a dear and help me move these samples, that'd be great."</p>
<p><em>Well, fuck Otis</em>, Barney finds himself thinking savagely. <em>And fuck Dr. Magnusson.</em> </p>
<p>The samples had been crammed into a heavy chilled box. Push with this cart, but oh, the elevator's down, so be careful hauling them the alternative path. </p>
<p>It was a winding, sterile, impersonal alternative path that Magnusson sent him on. Markers and warnings spotted the windows here, and Security he'd never met before prowled the halls. Some kept a hand on the glock at their hip, as if they might actually have to use it. Barney takes a moment to touch the butt of his own-- still strapped around his thigh, something about luck.</p>
<p>Or forgotten, because kit-down happens after the locker room. </p>
<p>Weird how that works.</p>
<p>The cart squeaks as he pushed it down the hall. Slow, slow goes the rounding of the corner, and gentle goes the stopping, confronted with a locked door and a guard. </p>
<p>"Got this," Barney says shortly, flashing a Temporary Clearance card. Magnusson-stamped.</p>
<p>"Poor bastard," the guard snorts, but lets him through. "What'd you do to piss off Magnusson?"</p>
<p>Barney does all he can not to sigh. Is that what this was about? Some kind of vendetta from a man he's only heard rumors about? </p>
<p>"No idea," Barney breathes, but the door's already slid shut. Past here, there's only one lab, which... he's doubtful about, honestly. The lights are low here, the metal grimy. What kind of research got done down here?</p>
<p>He didn't want to find out.</p>
<p>The cart keeps squeaking. The muscles in his arms are finally feeling the ache of the heavy load, but it's relatively easy to ignore. His footsteps echo off the walls, loud and unforgiving. As he rounds the next corner, teeth grit, a bright light suddenly washes over him.</p>
<p>"Not a step further, guard! We'll be taking these from here!"</p>
<p>A whitecoat bursts from the light, taking the cart out from Barney's hands with surprising strength. They drag it from its opposite handle into a slightly-ajar door, blue light wavering from its opening. Subconsciously, Barney tries to pursue, tries to peek inside--</p>
<p>but everything goes dark with a bang. </p>
<p>The darkness is crushing for all the seconds it lasts. No light forward-- a dead end, if he saw right-- and no light backward. His breathing feels unnatural and the air tastes rotten and stale. The stench of disinfectant is gone here, replaced by something familiar but indeterminable. It tickles the back of his throat, the back of his brain, but nothing specific comes up.</p>
<p>Just coffee-stained snapshots, vivid and emotional, until one by one the emergency lights flicker back to life. With a sigh, breath still fast and blood a little cold, he turns back. There's nothing more for him here. Hell, there was probably nothing for him elsewhere. </p>
<p>An hour past his shift, cruising 10pm at night, meant that familiar faces were in bed and people he wanted to see were gone. Gordon was-- god knows where. His texts and calls to the man had gone unanswered, the latter of which made sense because the man didn't talk, but desperation wasn't rational. He wanted to apologize more than anything, but Gordon had made himself scarce.</p>
<p>And he was starting to doubt Kleiner's claim of Hazard training. He didn't know a lot about it, but how long could it take? He didn't even have clearance for that part of the Black Mesa compound. Apparently Eli was down there, too, but the man was at least in his office time to time.</p>
<p>Gordon was nowhere. Not even at home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Barney ducks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>not tired, just worn, mind on edge because of unfamiliar places and procedures he didn't understand. the snappy echo of his combat boots, vents blowing air, torso bare but flexible with the flimsy protection of Security dress-close blues. kevlar vest gone, helmet forewent, a gun at his hip. vision aided by harsh overhead lights, but things feel slow, even the dust motes forming whorls. something solid hits the ground behind him.</p>
<p>soft, reminiscent not of produce but meat striking hard floor. muted impact. scratching on tile. barney rolls, pivots, shoves his back against the wall. </p>
<p>that's not any critter he's ever seen. it's round, fleshy, propelled by thin, slender and pointed legs. talon-like. it doesn't seem to have any eyes but it fixates on barney anyway, launching itself at him with fervor. it's got some power in it, he notes.</p>
<p>barney dives underneath it just as it hits the wall with a wet thud. it lands on its soft back, legs scrabbling uselessly at the air, revealing a gaping maw of talons and teeth. he stops himself from stomping on it-- there's a gun at his hip.</p>
<p>he clicks it off safety, unloads. stops moving after one. second shot, just to be safe. a third goes wild because the first two bangs disguised the arrival of a second bloated-bag creature. ringing ears further distort the skittering, chittering, but the pain in his shoulder is very real.</p>
<p>claws, teeth, pain. gun-hand weighed down by the shoulder, try to snatch it off with his other hand but there's another series of bang, bang, bang and the weight's gone. falls off his back, but he falls too. pain. </p>
<p>"Jesus fucking Christ, all the way up here? Someone get Jameson! We gotta get this guy to an infirmary."</p>
<p>barney's ears ring. he has enough thought to check his gun before it falls out of his hand.</p>
<p>someone helps him up. there's blurry, out-of-focus talking, and stilted movement forward. by the time he checks back, there's far more light, even fresh air. top-side, somehow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. xen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw for: fever dreams, implied drowning, fire, implied death and unreality</p>
<p>minor drug use and drugs involved</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things blur. It's arid desert air, stale hospital stench, flashes of hot, cold, colors he doesn't recognize and voices he doesn't know. At some point, there's yelling, fighting, a snap back to nothingness. Textures fade. Sensations come back in ebbing, hesitant tides. </p>
<p>Then it's hot, cold, blurry, loose, black, dreams.</p>
<p>He's back home where the backyard has more woods than space. Three hundred yards, the house is gone, obscured by oaks and cedars and thorny locusts. Long grass hugs the few beaten trails. Fallen leaves, branches, sprawling bushes and vines make a hazard out of everything between the trees. A steep slope that's pretty rocky slides right into the bank of a creek, audible in an angry burble because last week was all rain.</p>
<p>He's at the creek now. Rain, slow and pattering, generates a soothing white noise. His boots have a slippery purchase on the rocky outcropping, grip threatened by the stream's violent current. It's humid, there's a wind blowing, but the rain is chilly. It plasters his hair into his eyes. </p>
<p>The window blows. Light flashes, blinding.</p>
<p>Rain that once sprinkled gently, even playfully, now lashes into his skin. The creek springs up, encouraged. Its steep banks, high walls of dirt and rock and native grasses, can't keep it contained for long.</p>
<p>Your boots slip. Mud squelches.</p>
<p><br/>Blackness, hot, cold, voices, stabbing pain. Open eyes, white light, breaths that are too deep, too <em>shallowfastslow</em>, beeping--</p>
<p><br/>Class bell echoing off concrete walls and metal lockers. 3 second blare, 6 second ring, use the last vestiges of sound to escape another tardy ticket. Backpack light, slide it to the opposite wall once he hits his seat. A teacher fresh off the block in a class where the kids smell blood.</p>
<p>Her lack of experience is a field day for old tricks, jokes, catty stories that'd get them busted elsewhere. Keep his head down, eyes on the cracked windows. Humid, hot summer air filters in to a hot, oppressive classroom. August heat coupled with a facility with no functioning HVAC.</p>
<p>Bell rings. Out the classroom, skim three periods, out on the town for the rest of the day. </p>
<p>Everything rings. His ears, even when it's silent, the landline, your mother's yelp directly into your room. Scolding, demanding, anguished, slurred. </p>
<p>Stay in school, go to school, don't you want to<em> succeed--</em></p>
<p>There was a boy once. Smaller, scrawny, short brown hair and a mouth nastier than a snake. No hope of winning a brawl but sent all sorts running with his tongue alone. Tried the same on Barney, once. No reason, first interaction.</p>
<p>Barney slugged him. Afterwards, he could only think about how he had once thought the boy pretty. Bruising, black and blue, disfigured the delicate features into--</p>
<p>No, he hadn't been ugly then either. </p>
<p>Barney grabbed him by the arm and dragged his scrawny ass all the way back home. Ignored his own mother to slap ice and painkillers into the kid, traded words, interlocked lives.</p>
<p>Searing pain, located in the right shoulder, hotcold, coldhot, lukewarm-- peaceable, still dark. True sleep. Eyes open once again to a room that's still white but now dark. Overhead's off. Curtains drawn.</p>
<p>Body heavy.</p>
<p>Where the hell was he?</p>
<p>He turns his head. Someone's folded up beside him, lanky limbs, bony points. </p>
<p>Familiar but unrecognizable. Exhausted, Barney just shakes his pounding head and sinks back into the softness of whatever's underneath him. Sweet hours of blackness. Sleep.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>the tram system, as you move progressively inward, becomes worse. flat, metal benches, shaking until your brain is numb, doors that sometimes pop open mid-transit. the temperature fluctuates throughout tunnels-- some run a little cold, others warm. anything is welcome in the skin-tight clothing you were advised to wear. something about the HEV suit not doing well with baggy clothes. you can't really remember.</p>
<p>it's not that you don't care. it's that waking up at 4 am to get to somewhere by 6:30am was a tall order and it was still only 5:30 now. you try to sit upright, but the metal seats sit too low to support your spindly frame. </p>
<p>you glance to your left. Dr. Vance is on the tram with you, apparently your advisor for the imminent endeavor. he's just as sleepy as you, seems to even be dozing. you clench your jaw, resolve to stay awake.</p>
<p>you try not to think about last night. your fist still kind of hurts from where it connected, but it's only a dull ache. you're thankful that, right now, you're too tired to be anxious. after you got home, it had been one rising crescendo-- panic, anxiety, self-loathing. through the filter of shaking hands did you read the shiny new box on your table. how it got there, you didn't know.</p>
<p>but it was plain enough.</p>
<p>so now you find yourself here, four hours of sleep too few, crammed into a rickety cart with your coworker. you jump as a heavy hand plants itself on your knee.</p>
<p>"You should try to get some sleep, Gordon," Eli says, peeking at you with one eye. "It's going to be a long day."</p>
<p>you nod. the apprehension of what's to come sits draped around your shoulders.</p>
<p>the tram screeches to a stop. everything sways violently as the brakes lock and the doors pop open.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Sweet silence, then voices, noises, rustling, moving, hotcold rolling flashes of sensation-- pain, acute, once dull. One brief outlook onto the world has him sitting upright, white-knuckling a bed railing, then pressure point hands and back into the dark. Hot dark, feverish, rolling flame and acrid smoke.</p>
<p>Gravel crunch of the high school parking lot, tile squeak of the school gymnasium. Black smoke crests his head and stings his eyes. In, in, out, out, up, down means nothing here. Heavy, crushing force on his right shoulder.</p>
<p>A body, tossed haphazardly, unmoving, held in place by one strong arm. Movement is thick and slow as the smoke builds. Should be an exit out this way, sure, there's a door. Kick it open with a steel-toed boot.</p>
<p>Vivid, the texture of the smoke. The heat from the fire hot on your heels, consuming everything indiscriminately. Who knew concrete burned? Or maybe it was the layers of paint, caked on school walls since its creation? What is he doing here?</p>
<p>Sunlight, no, but it's light, and fresh air, as he staggers out the door. He hits the gravel with a heavy thud. </p>
<p>The person is the boy. Dirty with soot, mouth a gaping maw. Look around, no one's here, wonder how to save the dead or even how to tell. Before he can try, chittering rends the air. Skittering splits the reality into cobweb shreds. </p>
<p>Barney ducks. </p>
<p>Back into the blackness, heart racing, crying out, screaming.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>it turns out that Dr. Vance is there to help you suit up. the room itself is spacious, still open despite the equipment there that hooks up into you, monitoring your vitals, recording the HEV suit as its grey skin is slid over your jumpsuit. fibrous material, rubbery, thrumming as if alive. kevlar layers are put on next, clasping at the back. your breath quickens as the entire thing tightens around you.</p>
<p>slow, constrictive force. then it releases like it's sighing.</p>
<p>"You need to relax, Gordon," Dr. Vance says, voice gentle, face stern. "Or else the HEV suit will keep reacting."</p>
<p>easier said than done. you take in a deep breath, testing the limits of the grey suit. the entire thing shudders, pulling in new places, easing back in others. you release the breath, slow, then take another.</p>
<p>Dr. Vance proffers a grey glove. you take it from him, slowly guiding it onto your fingers. almost instantly, the fabric-- is it fabric?-- moves of its own accord, thrumming violently. it merges with the body suit.</p>
<p>"We've charged each piece separately," Dr. Vance explains. "It's part of a test we're running on the Mark IV."</p>
<p>you nod, unable to speak with occupied hands. the second glove moves just as eagerly. you fight to keep your breathing even as the entire suit twitches.</p>
<p>"How do you feel, Gordon? Everything alright?" Dr. Vance keeps his voice low as he speaks, moving around you to check clasps, ties, and fittings. "Before we put on the armor, why don't you try moving?"</p>
<p>you comply. you start with your fingers, wiggling them in their gloved prisons. then you twist your wrists and flex the delicate muscles in your hands, focusing on the sensation of the HEV reacting. you move your leg forward then, hissing as certain compressions elicit pain. when your foot falls, the pain fades.</p>
<p>"Weird," is all you say, finger-spelling.</p>
<p>"Yeah, that's a word for it," Eli agrees, smiling humorously. "Ready for the armor? It's heavy."</p>
<p>you don't have a choice in the matter, but you nod anyway.</p>
<p>the first piece to come on is the chest plate. it clamps onto your body in two parts-- the first piece which protects the bulk of your torso, also containing a power panel. it chimes happily as it syncs up with the skin. then, the second piece, a bulky collar that is thankfully padded but still hurts. as it settles around your shoulders, you damn near topple down, dramatically top-heavy.</p>
<p>when you try to fit the boots on, you do fall down, collapsing onto your back like a turtle. you don't bother trying to correct yourself because instantly, the suit skin squeezes, locking you into place.</p>
<p>Dr. Vance clamps the boots on, all clasps and chiming HEV suit. </p>
<p>your balance improves exponentially after that. the rest of the pieces-- arm plates, leg plates, joint covers and extra padding. fine touch, ambient temperature, all the little things you take for granted, gone.</p>
<p>surrendered to the suit.</p>
<p>"<strong>Welcome to the H.E.V. mark IV protective system, for use in hazardous environment conditions...</strong>"</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Warm, broad hands slide in soothing, circular strokes across Barney's bare arms. Finger pads explore the muscle, tracing invisible lines and patterns into the skin. Barney sighs and smiles into the oblivion.</p>
<p>He lets himself sink back down.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>you wouldn't call the training rudimentary-- it was a basic obstacle course, sure, and maybe a little crude, but it certainly served its purpose. movements and actions once thought simple and easy were laborious in the suit, even dangerous. your center of gravity was shifted elsewhere, forcing you to relearn how to walk. </p>
<p>the first time you tried to run, the suit had spasmed around you, pinching a variety of nerves that rolled you face-first into the hard ground. there you flailed for five minutes, only getting to your feet via frustration. </p>
<p>and there may have been an observer-- Dr. Keller, maybe-- but they could do nothing to help you. you were forced to make a fool of yourself, wasting everyone's time, until the end of the first course.</p>
<p>then they told you to do it again.</p>
<p>at least they were kind enough to give you water and food, the supplements of which you were happy to call rudimentary. quick, rapid nutritional fulfillment, keep the brain alive. a neon blue sports drink is sipped on your back to the start. </p>
<p>you look to Eli, matching your strides.</p>
<p>"How long did that take me?"</p>
<p>"Eight hours. By the end of the week, it should be as little as twenty or thirty minutes."</p>
<p>"And then it's field simulations."</p>
<p>you flex your hands. the suit chimes.</p>
<p>round two.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>improvement is noticeable. what tripped you up the first time seems to be gone as the suit moves with you, not against you. running is still a trick-- heavy weights on your feet tend to do that. this time, you shamelessly spend a few minutes jogging, building up speed on your final circuit to jump the tall barrel.</p>
<p>you land on your feet, this time, bowed into a crouch. the second jump is less graceful. the third has you keeling over in silent, seething pain as another nerve is pinched.</p>
<p>but it's released quickly. you try not to pout too hard as you limp through to the next course.</p>
<p>push, pull, goes the suit.</p>
<p>tick, tock goes the timer. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>your third run is stalled by the suit complaining about your vital signs. apparently, four hours of sleep taken some 20 hours ago could not keep you elevated enough. the scientists are forced to concede. </p>
<p>you fall asleep while Dr. Vance dismantles the HEV from around your body.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>a sixth run finds your leg fractured after you tried to use a crate as a landing pad. the damn thing shattered underneath you, aborting your landing. the weight of the HEV worked against you here. </p>
<p>the morphine numbs the pain before you become overwhelmed. it enables you to limp.</p>
<p>the medbox at the end of the hall finally has a use. you take its cable, eyeing the plug cautiously. it's long and tapered, clearly hiding a needle.</p>
<p>you thread it through the slot in the chestplate. a dull puncture, then everything goes white.</p>
<p>when you come to,  you're on the ground, the medbox is half-full, the cable slid back into its holster. morphine still dulls all your senses but the HEV no longer complains of a major fracture. good enough, you suppose, but the implications are terrifying.</p>
<p>you slot it into things to think about later. forward, to the next section, onto the 7th run.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>when you're released, the suit finally calibrated to your body, they usher you into the on-site hospital. Eli Vance still hovers at your shoulder, all comforting words and humanity. he tells you that your work there isn't over.</p>
<p>"Actual HEV usage won't be so... arduous, however," Dr. Vance says, voice filling the air. "You'll be in the test chamber, working on large-scale resonance experiments."</p>
<p>like your thesis, you think dully. you tune him out the closer you both get to the hospital.</p>
<p>walking out, as you walk in, is a tall man in a pressed suit. a briefcase is clasped tightly. you lock eyes with him to see iridescence, then thin air.</p>
<p>you're too tired to make anything of it.</p>
<p>but you're not too tired to make something of an echoing struggle. of a strained, ragged voice, thick with a twang you've become accustomed to in a short few months. if you panic and buck and run, bruises and beatings and everything, then who can blame you?</p>
<p>the sliding door glass vibrating as you pry it open, or the hospital staff exploding around you? </p>
<p>Dr. Vance left behind, bewildered?</p>
<p>or Barney Calhoun, feverish and discolored, thrashing in his hospital bed with your name in his mouth?</p>
<p>you can only blame yourself, in the end.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. and here in the night, ill see you then</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time Barney wakes, his throat is dry, and he's hungry. There's a concentrated thump in the back of his skull which slowly fades as he blinks into the darkness. It takes a while for his vision to adjust, details slowly coming into focus. He's not in his own bed. Hell, this isn't even his room. This is the stark, impersonal environment of a hospital, complete with uncomfortable mattress, lumpy pillow, and thin blankets.</p>
<p>Not his childhood home. The difference-- the expectation-- startles him. Why would he be there? Barney hadn't been home to his family for the better part of a decade. They cast him out and he happily cut them off.</p>
<p>There was nothing for him there. So why did it feel so close?</p>
<p>He tries to move his arm. Muscles twinge as he lifts it, joints complaining from disuse. There's some curious bruising-- small blots, swollen when poked at. How did he get those? How did he get here?</p>
<p>Memory recall seems to be fucked, as all he can dredge up is flashes of a rusty cart and Dr. Magnusson. But then he feels his heart quicken in that familiar, eureka! way the body does when remembering a tricky word. Dr. Magnusson had run him on an errand-- after hours, of course, with all the weight of his white coat behind him. Otis' support at his back. A mean furrow to his brow.</p>
<p>The bed squeaks as Barney lets his head fall back against the pillow, sighing. He remembers the grimy hall, the blue-lit lab, and then what?</p>
<p>It was a blur from there.</p>
<p>And the dreams... they had to be dreams, right? Creeks and rocks and fire, Landon, God, he doesn't want to think about it. Some things deserved to die. His past was one of them.</p>
<p>Nothing for him there. Everything for him here.</p>
<p>He jumps as something connects with his bare arm; he tries to scream, but his voice dies on a cracked, parched note. He looks and--</p>
<p>it's Gordon. </p>
<p>More vague impressions of could-be-dreams rise to the forefront of his mind's eye, which he tries to dismiss. Besides, the face in his brain doesn't match the face in front of him.</p>
<p>"Your nose," he croaks, gesturing toward Gordon's face.</p>
<p>It's crooked. Rather badly, too, like it was broken and healed up wrong. He would have said as much but there was a little white cup being eased into his hands. Water, tepid, but so sweet rolling down his throat.</p>
<p>"Thanks," he whispers, voice scratching the black. "Is there a-- can we get a light?"</p>
<p>Gordon blinks at him, glasses askew. Barney reaches over to set the thick frames back onto his nose, then watches him flick on a small overhead. As long as they don't look at it directly, they won't be blinded.</p>
<p>But he feels blinded just looking at Gordon. His pale, freckled face is disfigured, mostly-healed bruising cresting his cheeks and nose. His thick, curly hair covers the back of his neck, but Barney still follows lines of mottled swelling and semi-healed cuts. Most disappear beneath the MIT sweater he's wearing.</p>
<p>"Did you get into a fight? Christ, I don't even know what happened to me, but what happened to you?"</p>
<p>Gordon just shakes his head. Instead of answering, he takes Barney's hand, pressing his cheek against the exposed palm. Tentatively, Barney lets his fingers form around the jaw, skin tickling where the untended beard brushes.</p>
<p>"I get it," Barney huffs. "Hey... hey, Gordo, I'm sorry about what I did yesterday. Actually, how long has it been?" </p>
<p>With one hand, Gordon says four days, his eyes half-lidded. Barney whistles long and low. He tries not to think about how Gordon glazed over his apology but--</p>
<p>Maybe he didn't, actually. Barney runs the pad of his thumb along Gordon's cheek, mindful of the injuries. He drags his fingers across the surface of his beard, careful not to press too hard; Gordon sighs, eyes fluttering closed.</p>
<p>Maybe this was his acknowledgement. His forgiveness. </p>
<p>"Do you have any food?" Barney asks.</p>
<p>Gordon's eyes flick wide open, flashing bright green in the low light. A dance of expressions-- surprise, exasperation, confusion, then humor. With a pained noise, he pushes himself upright, withdrawing something from the folds of his sweater.</p>
<p>Two granola bars.</p>
<p>Barney eagerly scoops them up, the wrappers crinkling as he opens them in tandem, which prompts Gordon to warn him into eating slowly.</p>
<p>"You should be careful," Gordon warns.</p>
<p>Deliberately, he takes a small bite of only one bar, chewing on it gradually. He huffs a laugh at the other's expression, delighted when Gordon finally smiles.</p>
<p>Then his expression falls. Barney tenses, the granola dry as he swallows.</p>
<p>"I thought you were dying," Gordon says.</p>
<p>Barney goes cold. </p>
<p>"No, no, no... Nah, buddy, no," Barney stammers, reaching for Gordon. The bars fall into his lap, crumbling into pieces as he grasps the sides of Gordon's face. He makes sure his grip is tender, gentle, warm. "Takes more than that to take me down, y'hear?" </p>
<p>Even if he doesn't know what "that" was. He'd figure it out later. Right now, he only had focus for Gordon.</p>
<p>"Ain't nothing gonna kill me, okay?" Barney murmurs. "Look at me, bud. I'm sorry I scared ya like that." </p>
<p>A keening sound, a wobbling lip. Barney watches as Gordon's expression crumples into a tearful gasp, which fills him with a confused panic. He tamps it down as best he can. </p>
<p>"It's okay, I promise. I'm alright," Barney murmurs. He definitely feels better than before, at least. That way, he's not lying. </p>
<p>"Sorry," Gordon says, even as his head falls back into Barney's hands. "I should be..."</p>
<p>"Should be what, Gordon?" Barney says softly, finally running his fingers through his hair. It's a little greasy and unkempt, but he takes the time to gentle dissect some tangles. "It's okay. Whatever happened, we can talk about in the morning."</p>
<p>At that, Gordon sniffles, shoulders shaking as he suppresses and beats down tears. He relaxes into Barney's hands with one final sigh.</p>
<p>"Sit up here with me," Barney murmurs. The bed creaks loudly as he moves aside to make space. "It's cold."</p>
<p>To his surprise, Gordon... seems to comply. The lanky scientist climbs to his feet in the staggering, hesitant way of the injured, trying to favor both sides at once. He hooks his arm around Gordon's waist to stabilize him, which earns him a pained gasp.</p>
<p>"You've gotta tell me what happened, man," Barney says.</p>
<p>In lieu of responding, Gordon lets his weight fall completely into Barney's arms. They only wiggle a little to get their weight to settle down completely-- it's a tight fit, for they were both large, but it's not disastrously uncomfortable.</p>
<p>It's nice.</p>
<p>Barney lets his head come to a rest on Gordon's shoulder, nose pressed into the fabric of his sweater. Against his better will, he dozes right back off; he's safe here. </p>
<p>Nothing can touch them here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sometimes you just need a little reprieve</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. spite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"We'd really like to keep you here another day, in case you have a relapse."</p>
<p>"And I'd really like to get back to work," Barney says, jaw set to a stubborn clamp. "A relapse to what, anyway? Y'all said it was some kinda infection?"</p>
<p>"Yes, your injuries became infected shortly after you arrived," the nurse says, looking tired. She sets a cool cup of water down beside his antibiotics-- which were three horse pills in addition to an injection. Helluva treatment, really. "You may feel fine now, but you're still not in the clear."</p>
<p>"I don't even remember how I got these," Barney complains. He scoops up the pills and downs them, knocking them back with the water as fast as he can. To let them linger means he'd chicken out or choke on them, which is the last thing he wants to do. "Looks like I got mauled by a bobcat."</p>
<p>"You were extremely out of it," his nurse says sympathetically. </p>
<p>Barney doesn't say anything, just stares into the middle distance of the clean white walls as she gives him a shot. "Extremely out of it" was a kind way of putting it. And the nurse didn't seem keen on filling him in. Maybe the doctor would be? Did he have a doctor?</p>
<p>He had to have a doctor, right?</p>
<p>His arm aches where the shot went in. </p>
<p>"I think I'm goin' home tonight," Barney says casually. "I can treat myself."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>As Barney leaves the hospital, he runs into... not the last person he expected to see, but certainly not the first. The rumpled form of his dorm-mate, Hank, is lingering outside the doors, as if waiting to be let inside. He's dressed casually, even a little cleaned up, but seems to be weighed down by two bags.</p>
<p>Cautiously, Barney approaches him from behind, tapping his shoulder.</p>
<p>"Hey, Hank. Everything okay?"</p>
<p>The man jumps, swearing. "Christ! Barney, you're alive! I was goin' to visit you, asshole."</p>
<p>"Of course I'm alive. Why does everyone think I'm dead? Christ!" Barney laughs, shaking his head. It's all he can do in the strangeness of it all. "Were ya that worried about me?"</p>
<p>"Pretty damn worried," Hank admits, more gently. He sets one of the cloth bags on the hot pavement at his feet. "You've been gone for a week, man. Heard ya met some Black Mesa bogeys."</p>
<p>"Figures. But that just means I'm right," Barney says. He blinks, then, with the slow-dawning realization that, technically, the local crazy man-- himself-- was right. "Hey, you want to go get a drink? I'd kill for a drink right now."</p>
<p>"We've got beer at home," Hank replies. "You good to walk home? Should we take a tram?"</p>
<p>"S'not like my leg is blown. All that stuff for me?"</p>
<p>Barney hauls the bag's strap onto his good shoulder before Hank can pick it back up. It's not very heavy, but definitely seems to be full of books. They fall into step together.</p>
<p>"Shoot me. I was worried."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Their dorm is... close to what Barney last saw it as. Messy in the way that two bachelors are messy, but not disgusting. There's food (and beer) in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer, and for some reason, people in the living room. Barney decides not to comment on that while he goes about showering and redressing his shoulder.</p>
<p>Which... is a pain, on his own. He scrunches his nose in distaste-- does he really have to ask for help? How much more could the scratches get infected?</p>
<p>He thinks about the men in his living room. Hank, Otis, and Laurie were in there-- one of them probably knew first aid. If not, they could at least follow instructions. Three Security Team goons makes one Science Team goon, right?</p>
<p>Right.</p>
<p>He scoops up the medical supplies and makes the walk of shame to his friends. Coworkers. Acquaintances, maybe. Fuck, this made things hard to think about. </p>
<p>"Anyone want to help me fix up these cuts?" Barney calls, rapping his knuckles on the hallway wood. "As it turns out, I'm not flexible enough to do it myself."</p>
<p>"No shit," Hank snorts. "Sit here, I'll do it."</p>
<p>Huh. </p>
<p>Barney plops himself down beside Hank, leaning forward, arms folded in his lap to take up as little space as possible. Even like this, his knees still dug against Laurie. Inevitable, really.</p>
<p>Black Mesa furniture was "good enough." Not "adequate."</p>
<p>"Good to see your face, Calhoun," Laurie starts, cracking open a beer. He presses the glass into his hands. "Hear you might be transferred to Indigo Shift."</p>
<p>"Bullshit," Barney snaps. "Otis, what the hell does that mean?"</p>
<p>Otis looks at him, mid-sip. "Hey, just be glad they're givin' you a choice in the matter. You tellin' me you don't want a promotion?"</p>
<p>"Sure, and a 24-hour shift? No, thanks," Barney says, clenching his teeth. "Are you sandpapering that, Hank?"</p>
<p>A jab in his good shoulder. "Shut up, man. I'm making sure they stay clean. These are gonna be some gnarly scars for whatever girl you pick up."</p>
<p>"Girl? You're crazy, Hank," Otis cuts in. "Barney wouldn't know a girl if she hit him. I bet it's that Freeman character."</p>
<p>"God, have you seen Freeman lately? He looks nasty," Laurie adds. "I keep seein' him in the training zones. Poor bastard."</p>
<p>Barney freely lets his head fall into his hands as his dignity is ribbed to death. He tries not to show his keen interest in Gordon's well-being, either.  Hank is still rough with applying the gauze and medical tape to his scratches, which only marginally distracts him from the others. At this rate, he could pull the I-nearly-died card and not feel bad about it...</p>
<p>"I'm stayin' Blue," he says. "So I'm relyin' on you, Otis, to keep me there. Got it?"</p>
<p>"I got it," Otis says solemnly, raising his glass in a mock-toast. "To keepin' Calhoun and Freeman in close quarters."</p>
<p>Before he can say anything, Hank pats his back. "Alright, all done. Now go put on some fuckin' clothes, man."</p>
<p>"I live here! I can do as I damn well please!" Barney protests, twisting around. Besides, he was wearing sleep pants. What more did they want from him? </p>
<p>To drive home the point, Barney digs into the center cushion of the couch, upending the beer bottle into his mouth. He manages to chug over half of it before deciding his message was clear.</p>
<p>"I'm just askin' politely," Hank huffs, turning back to the TV.</p>
<p>"And I ask <em>you</em> politely to do the dishes," he snipes.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>the HEV suit with no power is true dead weight. it is hundreds of pounds of metal, rubber, kevlar, and various carbons, no longer half-supported by living wire and hyper-attentive AI. each motion is your own. each slow, painstaking footfall is brought on by your muscle, your own will. the obstacle course mocks you as you beat your way through it.</p>
<p>it took you well over 40 runs to finesse it. 4 more to take shortcuts, 3 to get to a personal best of 10 minutes. competition to keep your mind alive in the midst of monotony. your observers had noticed.</p>
<p>
  <em>"Now that you have mastered the powered HEV suit,"</em>
</p>
<p>and hadn't that sent every alarm bell ringing, such deliberate emphasis,</p>
<p>"it is time to learn how to move in it when it is without power. While we all pray that you have no need to experience such an event, we want you to be prepared for anything, Dr. Freeman."</p>
<p>prayer is a funny thing to invoke, you think. Black Mesa spits in the face of god everyday. you cut a silent look at Dr. Keller while he steps forward to assist you in-- </p>
<p>in depleting the suit of power.</p>
<p>"It's important that you remain standing during this," Dr. Keller says gravely. "Otherwise, the weight of the suit might collapse you when it powers down."</p>
<p>you nod. you try to think of other things. when's the last time you took your T shot? the beginning of the week. due next week, then. that's fine. you can wait for that. </p>
<p>it's only been five days. maybe six. you're surprised that you've been able to keep track of time at all. your hospital stay is the first time you've slept properly.</p>
<p>the HEV suit complains of an inordinate power draw. something solid clicks inside the armor. behind you, the battery sapping the HEV suit of its power chirps.</p>
<p>"Jesus, it separated the connection!" Dr. Keller gasps, eyes wide. he looks at the monitor, more impressed than anything. "I suppose that means it's functioning as intended."</p>
<p>that makes sense. the HEV even chimes cheerily, as if in agreement. </p>
<p>
  <strong>"External potential hazard removed. Power level retained at 35%."</strong>
</p>
<p>you know better than to personalize a machine. you can't help but detect some underlying smug tone in the voice, anyway.</p>
<p>
  <em>when the final vestiges of power are sapped from the living skin, emergency lights flare on inside the helmet. a good thing, as the tinted visor wouldn't have let you see otherwise. the suit must have batteries.</em>
</p>
<p>you fail to get your weight through the air and onto the other side. the fall is padded by the HEV in some regards, but you're now prone. defenseless.</p>
<p>an overturned turtle. the concrete ceiling with its suspended industrial lights is all you can see through your visor. dimly, the voices of Dr. Keller and Dr. Vance echo down.</p>
<p>an argument.</p>
<p>you now understand that this was not part of the training course.</p>
<p>this was a variable. a deviation. </p>
<p>punishment.</p>
<p>for what, you do not know. you don't know the Science Team, nor the administration, that orchestrated these plans. what ire you could have drawn by succeeding is lost on you-- unless someone was hoping for your failure. that would not surprise you. you were no stranger to jealous peers and scared seniors. saboteurs and bitter slander dogged you for years. even Innsbruck, hallowed halls though they were, had its fangs.</p>
<p>if Black Mesa were to be no different, then so be it.</p>
<p>you turn over. your muscles, your bones, scream and complain. the HEV suit pulls down on your body, actively resisting your every movement. if the act of standing up elicits a scream-like sound, then you don't hear it.</p>
<p>you stomp your way to the ladder. you climb back onto the platform.</p>
<p>the argument echoes through the intercom. </p>
<p>you take the jump again. this time, you make it. this time, you roll with the momentum, letting your body be as graceless as it needs to be to survive. </p>
<p>"Dr. Freeman, your Introductory Hazard Suit training has been completed. Once you reach the next room, I will help you remove that bastard suit."</p>
<p>Dr. Vance's voice has an uncharacteristic sharp ring to it. it manages to knock your own anger down, quelled by the righteous ferocity. you listen as ordered.</p>
<p>you can't find it in yourself to speak.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>It's late by the time Otis and Laurie leave. The TV still plays softly in the background, alternating between commercials and some cheesy crime show in uneven intervals. It's a soothing ambiance to the clink-splash of dishes. Dinner for four was always messier than dinner for one or two.</p>
<p>It could also be that Barney's a messy cook, but it'd be remiss to say that to his face. He was the only cook he knew aside from Kleiner and Vance, so he was allowed to be messy. It was his right. </p>
<p>"Hank, are there any other dishes by the TV?" Barney calls over his shoulder. The last glass clinks as he stacks it on the drying rack.</p>
<p>"Not to my eyes," Hank calls back. "You goin' to bed?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, think so. I'm pretty tired. Can't believe I have work tomorrow, man."</p>
<p>"You literally asked for it..."</p>
<p>"Shut up!"</p>
<p>Barney's bedroom door squeaks as he pulls it shut. As soon as it does, he nearly hits the floor. He's tired. Mentally, physically, socially. What little energy he did have had been utterly depleted-- and he had been ignoring it, for some sake of normalcy. For some reprieve from the lurking danger of what he went through and the ominous warnings from the hospital. As much as he wanted to, those weren't things he could ignore.</p>
<p>Not for much longer, anyway. They'd catch up to him eventually.</p>
<p>And he definitely didn't want to find out how they might manifest if left unchecked. There was danger in that. Hell, he had been learning about this for years. Every book-- every "conspiracy" book, the quotations added for savagery in his mind-- had been right. </p>
<p>Something was going on. Bigger than him. Bigger than all of them.</p>
<p>And Black Mesa was in the center of all of it. </p>
<p>Black Mesa knew.</p>
<p>Hell, maybe even Gordon knew. God, Anomalous Materials could be the cover up for everything. And he had been given such a boon as to not only be working close to AnMat, but befriending their poster boy.</p>
<p>He winces as that thought slogs through his tired mind. "Poster boy" was not a good way to describe Gordon. Hell, the man was barely aware of his notorious reputation among the Security Team (and some of the Science Team). Besides, Gordon, at this point, was more than just a friend.</p>
<p>He was... closer than that. And for the first time, Barney felt comfortable acknowledging it.</p>
<p>Barney falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. </p>
<p>Above him, unbeknownst to him, the room crackles a brilliant green.</p>
<p>In its wake, a purple, frog-like creature sits on the foot of his bed. It blinks its single red eye and croaks.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>whoops! all barney. and some good ol' black mesa workplace violence i guess</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. safest sounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dr. Vance's home is sweet. the apartment is full of natural light, granted by wide windows whose sills are stuffed with plants. some seem to be herbal types, filling the air with their bright scent, while others are hardy succulents. childproofing can be seen on cabinets, drawers, and other facets of the house-- to quite extreme ends. alyx must be quite the engineer.</p>
<p>no, you know she is. azian and eli are both incredibly intelligent. beyond that, they encourage and nurture alyx no matter her working interest or thought. she likes puzzles, noise-makers, and uses physics books as bedtime stories. so barney claims, anyway. you haven't known her long.</p>
<p>you take a slow drag of the coffee still sitting hot on the counter. New Mexico sunrises start early, but you had beat it by a couple hours. now you watch the sun creep through a crack in the Black Mesa compound, a bloody red spot cresting the horizon. it beats back the night, aggressive and untamed. </p>
<p>you let your head sink down onto the cool table top. you're exhausted, despite sleeping well over fourteen hours since you came here. the HEV suit had abused you thoroughly, leaving grooves and bruising on every inch of your skin. the calibration was supposed to reduce that--</p>
<p>but then, you had been subjected to a setback. even now, the memory of Dr. Vance's wrath chills you to the bone. it was rare that people stepped to your defense-- you can count the people who did on one hand. that pool was, of course, slowly growing, but the principle of it stood.</p>
<p>you let the hot ceramic burn your skin, a stinging contrast to your other cheek. if your glasses weren't digging into your face, you might have fallen back asleep right here. with luck, the Vances wouldn't be awake quite yet.</p>
<p>a door slides shut somewhere behind you.</p>
<p>you were never a very lucky guy.</p>
<p>fortunately, they don't say anything as they shamble into the kitchen space. Eli makes himself a cup of coffee- creamer and milk, you note- and sits in the chair across from you. he's got a tired slope to his brow, but there's no overt, bone-deep weariness in his eyes.</p>
<p>as he looks at you, you look away.</p>
<p>"Been up long, Gordon?" Eli asks, voice soft. the morning sun frames him in a golden halo of light. "Sleep alright?"</p>
<p>your body creaks as you try to push yourself upright. muscles complain. the delicate work of signing seems to be beyond your control, but the man before you is worthy of the effort.</p>
<p>"I'm very tired," you admit. "That was... difficult."</p>
<p>"No doubt. But you handled it very well, Gordon," Eli says. "I'll make sure Izzy goes easy on you when you get back to work," he chuckles.</p>
<p>you try to smile, a thin thing.</p>
<p>"How long have you been working with Dad?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I've known your father for many years. We used to get drinks while he worked at MIT, you know."</p>
<p>"I never met you," you say, frowning deeply.</p>
<p>"No, I suppose you didn't. I kept myself scarce with work and science, I'm afraid," Eli says with a low, slightly regretful chuckle. "Azian got me on the right track."</p>
<p>that... makes sense, you suppose. Kleiner never had many visitors over, anyway. and only when you were older did he go back to drinking with friends. </p>
<p>"I am very grateful for Azian," he continues, eyes shining with a tenderness. "I met her in high school. She's a very accomplished pathologist and works with the Biology department here. Did you know she met Barney first?"</p>
<p>you shake your head. tentatively, you let yourself fold back down, eyes trained on Eli.</p>
<p>"She did! Barney started here before we did, but barely. He was quite the workaholic, though you wouldn't guess it now," Eli says. He pauses long enough to take a sip of coffee. "It's only recently he got a permanent assignment to AnMat."</p>
<p>your eyes threaten to slide close. with a concentrated effort, you sit back up, determined to listen. </p>
<p>"But I digress. Azian and I went to different colleges, but we met again at the same grad school--"</p>
<p>"Are you talking about me behind my back, Eli?" </p>
<p>you jump slightly at the new voice. Azian herself skirts the table, hugging Eli from behind very briefly. in the same motion, she steals a sip from his coffee.</p>
<p>"I would do no such thing," Eli laughs. "I was just filling Gordon in on the years before he came here. Say, didn't you come back here from Austria?"</p>
<p>you nod slowly, but make no effort to elaborate. Innsbruck had been very... enlightening, but academia was stifling, if not outright stagnated. bilingualism is the only thing you withdrew from the experience.</p>
<p>you let them carry the conservation without you, only ever nodding or shaking your head when necessary. eventually, you fall asleep, lulled to safe contentment by their warm voices. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>When Barney wakes up, it's to a frog.</p>
<p>Or something resembling a frog. Before he can actually determine what the hell it is, it sticks its tongue out with a low croak, which sounds unlike any frog he's heard before. He does scream, though, nearly throwing himself off his bed in fright. </p>
<p>The frog-- the creature, purple and red and weird-- only pulls itself into the warm indentation left by his face. It tucks its legs underneath it, and settles.</p>
<p>"What the fuck," he whispers. "Where'd you even come from?"</p>
<p>Its eyes-- no, eye, Barney realizes dimly, and bright red, to boot, only slides shut. Its throat swells, releasing the tiniest of chirps.</p>
<p>"Guess we can rule out... hostility," Barney says, voice strained. He pushes himself to his feet, dragging his hand down his face. He makes sure to dig in with his fingers. "God. Okay, this might as well happen."</p>
<p>Yeah.</p>
<p>"I'm gonna take a shower, little dude. Don't go anywhere."</p>
<p>The... frog... does nothing. If anything, it just settles deeper into his pillow. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>"So what were you screamin' about?" Hank says conversationally, slapping the last of medical tape over Barney's bandages. "Fun way to wake up."</p>
<p>"You're tellin' me," Barney huffs. "It was nothin'. Don't sweat it, Hank."</p>
<p>"Whatever you say, man."</p>
<p>Yeah, it was whatever he said. Barney rolls his shoulders as Hank retreats, glad that the pain had died down to a minimum. He scoops up his phone, scrolling through what notifications he has.</p>
<p>-- Gordon Freeman --<br/><strong>GF:</strong> Good to go back Monday.<br/><strong>GF:</strong> Get coffee with me later?<br/><strong>GF:</strong> I'm at the Vances.<br/><strong>BC:</strong> Thanks for ignoring the week's worth of desperation. What are you doing at Eli's?<br/><strong>BC:</strong> Sure, coffee sounds great. My place?<br/><strong>GF:</strong> Long story. What time?<br/><strong>BC:</strong> Whenever. I've got something to show you.<br/><strong>GF:</strong> Alright. See you soon.</p>
<p>Well, Gordon must be feeling even less talkative than normal. Barney raises his eyebrows at the short conversation-- maybe the man would be more forthcoming once he's over. Speaking of, he should throw a quick lunch together or something. Knowing Gordon, he probably hasn't eaten real food in way too long.</p>
<p>"Gordon's coming over," Barney says aloud, tucking his cell away. "Gonna make some food. What should I make?"</p>
<p>"Man, I dunno. He's your boyfriend!" Hank snipes back, pulling open the fridge. "Chicken and rice?"</p>
<p>"He's not-- you're as bad as Otis! We're not dating!" Barney says, even as he looks over Hank's shoulder to peer into the fridge. "We're friends. Fuck off."</p>
<p>"Dude, make those egg sandwiches. We've got bacon and everything," Hank says imploringly. To drive home his point, he stoops down to grab the carton of eggs and bacon.</p>
<p>"No avocado, or bagels," Barney points out. "But I guess we can use tomatoes...?"</p>
<p>"Sear the tomatoes."</p>
<p>"I am not searing the tomatoes."</p>
<p>Hank and Barney fall into a seemingly practiced rhythm within their tiny kitchen. Ingredients are divvied out among various dishes, then brought together later. On the third egg, a knock on the door disrupts their quiet affair. </p>
<p>"Shoot, guess he wasn't kiddin' about it being soon, huh?" Barney mutters, flipping the egg. "Hank, handle these."</p>
<p>He grabs the man by the shoulders and slots him into place, ignoring his protests. Yet, as he makes quick strides toward the door, a flash of color catches his eye. Purple.</p>
<p>The frog-creature is plopped serenely on the back of the sofa, its single red eye fixed on Barney. His heart leaps up in his throat, pure fear making a water slide out of his veins. Gordon knocks again.</p>
<p>Barney scoops up the frog one-handed and stuffs it down his shirt. Oh, god. Now he had a frog in his shirt. What the fuck was he thinking.</p>
<p>He pulls open the door anyway.</p>
<p>"Gordon! Christ, oh my god, are you okay?" Barney says, his mouth moving before his brain can stop it. Gordon looked, if possible, worse than when he last saw him.</p>
<p>"Just fine," Gordon says. "Can I sit down?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, of course," Barney wheezes. He ushers him inside, patting the armchair. "We were just makin' lunch. You want some?"</p>
<p>There's a moment of silence as Gordon eases himself down into the armchair. The frog's feet are cold against Barney's chest as it seems... utterly content to just sit there, a misshapen lump beneath his shirt. Great.</p>
<p>Gordon nods, so silent that Barney nearly missed it. </p>
<p>"Great! I'll uh, yeah!" </p>
<p>"Don't hurt yourself, Barn. Here you two go. I'm gonna go uh, Laurie asked me to help them with something," Hank says, clasping his shoulder. He presses a plate stacked with two sandwiches into his open hands. "Don't get too frisky!"</p>
<p>Thankfully, Hank leaves without noticing the bulge in Barney's shirt. Unfortunately, he's now left alone with Gordon.</p>
<p>No, that's a good thing.</p>
<p>"That thing I wanted to show you!" Barney blurts out, reaching down his shirt just as Gordon's bright green eyes pop open. "Right here!"</p>
<p>The frog, or whatever it was, resists for a couple seconds, but eventually lets itself come away in Barney's grip. He presents it to Gordon with a flourish.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>you stare at the creature with bewilderment. it was a fairly large, toad-like being, purple in color with red accents. its limbs were all akimbo struggling for purchase on Barney's arm, but otherwise it did not seem alarmed, merely blinking its single red eye very slowly. you've never seen a purple toad before.</p>
<p>"Why was it down your shirt?" is the only thing you can bring yourself to ask, as that seemed more pressing than anything else.</p>
<p>"I panicked," Barney admits with a laugh. "It was on my pillow this morning!"</p>
<p>you smile despite yourself. it's the only thing you can do, no matter how much you want to be intrigued. you're tired, bone-weary, and just want to hug Barney close to your chest. that last thought is a little flighty, but true, all the same.</p>
<p>Barney seems to recognize this. you watch him with tired eyes as he kneels down beside you (food set aside), carefully easing the frog into your lap. it jumps onto your stomach with a croak.</p>
<p>"Cute," you sigh, reaching to stroke its back. its cool, slightly damp, to the touch. its skin is bumpy.</p>
<p>"I'm gonna keep it, Gord," Barney says. "What should we name it?"</p>
<p>your breath hitches with surprise. <em>'we?'</em></p>
<p>"Could name it Glock," he muses.</p>
<p>"Einstein," you suggest. the man was one of your childhood heroes, or had been, once upon a time. </p>
<p>"Glockstein."</p>
<p>you're too tired to confirm that. you smile as wide as you can, just to show your approval. on a whim, you rest your hand atop Barney's head, letting your fingers sink into his soft hair. you scratch his scalp.</p>
<p>"Tired, huh?" Barney murmurs.</p>
<p>he's blushing. it looks nice on him-- a spread of pink, then red, all the way down his neck. you have it bad, it seems. you continue to comb through his hair, watching the wavy black locks curl around your fingers. </p>
<p><em>very</em>, you want to say. <em>sorry</em>, you want to whisper, but your throat is disused and rarely makes noise. your only solace is the tension rolling out of Barney in tangible waves, his head sinking down into your lap.</p>
<p>the toad chirps, folding into a loaf on your stomach. where it sits, the bruises do not sting or ache. </p>
<p>"It's okay, Gord. That's okay. You don't have to push yourself around me."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i love you guys!! thanks for all your comments n support, it really keeps me going. thank you to my boyfriend for betaing some chapters, and lots of thanks to CosmicWoods for letting me yell at them abt this fic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. sweet kiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Hank lounges in Laurie's bedroom. The curtains are drawn, the lights are off, and quiet game music plays from the tiny flat screen TV they have wedged on top of their dresser. Various wires and cables spill around the structure, feeding into handheld controllers and game consoles. None lead directly to the two security guards, however; their controllers are wireless.</em>
</p>
<p>Their characters strike constantly against one another. An indeterminate fighting game, then, rumored to be called Clash Siblings Supreme.</p>
<p>"I've been thinking of changing my name," Laurie says, mashing buttons on his controller. "And maybe even like, my gender."</p>
<p>He doesn't move his eyes away from the screen. Neither digital character falters in their attack, but it is a long time until Hank responds.</p>
<p>"What are you thinkin' about? What are you going to change it to?" Hank asks, sucking in a breath as he dodges a particularly nasty combo.</p>
<p>Laurie's surprise costs him a life. </p>
<p>"Uh, shit, I was thinking Lauren... or Laura, for my name," he says, hastily fleeing a barrage of bombs. "I'd like to be a woman, you know?"</p>
<p>"Can't say I know," Hank admits, swearing as his avatar is thrown off the map. "But like, do whatever you want. Who the fuck is gonna tell you no here?"</p>
<p>Laurie laughs, crowing in victory when he shoves Hank's character one more time off the platform. The multicolored warrior disappears in a blazing glory. </p>
<p>"GAME," shouts the TV.</p>
<p>"That's a good point, I guess. What're they gonna fuckin' do? Fire me for gender crimes?"</p>
<p>"Real bold of them, when Black Mesa is crime incarnate," Hank snorts. "But dude, if you're serious about that, we can start small. What name do you like better?"</p>
<p>Hank settles his coin on the space to select a random character. After some deliberation, Laurie does the same, pressing start.</p>
<p>"I like Lauren a lot. It just sounds pretty," Lauren says. She winces when their characters load up. "God, Thrasher sucks. I'm so gonna lose."</p>
<p>"Lauren, then," Hank mutters. "Fuck, I got the Fire Sliders. No idea how people always say they're any good. They always slide right off-- see? God!"</p>
<p>The game music is overlapped by Lauren's loud laughter. Unfortunately, she too plummets right off the map, thumb having pushed the joystick a little too far. </p>
<p>"We're both so fucking stupid," Hank says, grinning loosely. "Laur-- Lauren, hey."</p>
<p>"Keep your eyes on the screen, idiot," Lauren says as both of their characters respawn. Almost immediately, she guides the heavy Thrasher into pummeling the dual Fire Sliders. Her focused gaze isn't enough to quell the giddy smile. "I'm gonna grow my hair out."</p>
<p>"Mean! Oh yeah, you should-- fucker, yeah, eat shit," Hank snaps. A well-placed bomb sends Lauren's fighter into next Tuesday. "Anyway, your hair. You'd look good with long hair. Maybe bangs?"</p>
<p>"We're security guards. Great idea, I'll just wave this gun around with no depth perception," Lauren says, shaking her head. "I want to get a braid." </p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Hank chuckles.</p>
<p>They lapse back into easy banter, interspersed by various character deaths and game noises. On their twentieth match, Hank finally sets down the controller, stretching out to his full height of 5'10, back cracking.</p>
<p>"Old man."</p>
<p>"Shut uppp," Hank groans. "I'm not old! We're the same age!"</p>
<p>"Old man. Get better bones," Lauren continues, poking him in the head.</p>
<p>"I'm lactose intolerant, thanks. I absorb calcium directly from other peoples' skeletons," Hank says, rolling his eyes.</p>
<p>Lauren only chuckles as she leans over to Hank's beanbag chair. She presses a gentle kiss over his forehead. </p>
<p>
  <em>"Wanna watch me speed run Half-Life?"</em>
</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>a big soft bed, heavy comforter, a pile of pillows. sunlight blocked by curtains. cool air circulating, brushing over your face but unable to reach the rest of you. luxury compared to your rickety bed in the underground, which was stuffy and stale in comparison. </p>
<p>the toad was neither here nor there. it was an unprecedented development. nothing you or Barney did could have accounted for the creature, but it wasn't... a bad thing. it was charm to this picture-perfect scene. a dusting closer to perfection.</p>
<p>you knew better than to strive for perfection, of course. too much satisfaction in any one thing led to delusions and self-fulfilled prophecies. ambition was good, healthy even, but perfectionism...</p>
<p>you've seen it grind coworkers, peers, and superiors into dust. Black Mesa was sick with the concept, but so was every other research company. it was a race to see whose spine would break first-- Aperture's, or Black Mesa's?</p>
<p>you're digressing. you turn away from the toad to look at Barney. he fell asleep a while ago, one giant arm slung around your waist; his face is mashed into his gray pillows, mouth open in a snore. an ugly sleeper, but god, you can't stop looking at him.</p>
<p>he's handsome. his face is free of hard stress lines, jaw slack with sleep. it's a far cry from the usual tension he carries on a subconscious level. you wonder if he's aware of how tense he is-- maybe Eli was right. the man was just a workaholic in disguise.</p>
<p>you know the feeling, though.</p>
<p>you let yourself snuggle deeper into the crook of his arm. just this once, you'll indulge in yourself. an ounce of selfishness for a pound of self-control later. the duvet has you both trapped together anyway.</p>
<p>his arm tightens around you. you look up, frightened.</p>
<p>he's awake. </p>
<p>"C'mere," Barney slurs. "Sleep, Gordo."</p>
<p>his heavy palm lands on your head. </p>
<p>"Gonna... pet you 'till you fall asleep," he mumbles into his pillow. "Like you did me."</p>
<p>you flush despite yourself. true to his word, his broad finger tips start plying through your hair, negotiating tangles with surprising deftness. this time, you don't feel so guilty burrowing into his side.</p>
<p>Barney's a big guy. he easily takes up the bulk of the bed-- if you weren't so lanky, there wouldn't have been room for you both. you're glad there is, all the same.</p>
<p>"Stop thinkin' so hard, Gord," Barney says, voice suddenly clear. the bed creaks as he heaves himself to rest on one elbow.</p>
<p>his other hand doesn't leave your hair. flat nails scritch your scalp very briefly.</p>
<p>"Is everything okay?"</p>
<p>you blink up at him, unsure of how to answer. everything was... fine, for the most part. you were just having trouble sleeping. that was nothing new.</p>
<p>sometimes sleep was elusive. you've learned to wait.</p>
<p>"God, you're cute, look at you," Barney mutters, cheeks suddenly scarlet. "Like a damn cat."</p>
<p>now it's your turn to blush.</p>
<p>Barney does not help matters by gently dragging his nails across your chin, scratching the bristly hairs there. he rubs slow circles, alternating between scratching against the grain and stroking along it. either way, each brush sends electricity down your spine. you feel lightheaded.</p>
<p>touch starvation's a bitch, you think.</p>
<p>"I kinda... want to kiss you right now," Barney says.</p>
<p>you look up to the best of your ability. his face is bright red, probably redder than yours, with splotchy blushing staining his neck. his shirt hangs low on his frame, loose, somehow, revealing black chest hair.</p>
<p>"You can," you say, deliberately finger-spelling.</p>
<p>his grip on your chin slackens. his eyes light up with surprise, hope, anxiety-- all the same things you're feeling now. he had proposed. you had said yes.</p>
<p>before Barney can retreat, you start trying to sit upright. it's a challenge with muscle strain that just seems to be settling deeper, making every inch of movement a chore.</p>
<p>"Wait, Gord," Barney says, voice panicked.</p>
<p>you ignore him. you lean into his space before he can invade yours. a kiss is simple-- but this one feels different. there's weight. want. </p>
<p>a promise.</p>
<p>you drape your arms around his shoulders. he supports your weight easily, cradling you against his heavy frame. </p>
<p>he beats you to the kiss, in the end. his mouth on yours, noses mashed together until you both remember how it works. gentle, slow, soft. sealed lips, then open mouths.</p>
<p>with a sigh, Barney retreats first.</p>
<p>you kiss him again. the corner of his smile, up to his scrunched nose. so cute, you think. Barney's handsome and rugged and tough, but also adorable.</p>
<p>you like him.</p>
<p>"No throat punch?" Barney teases.</p>
<p>now it's your turn to blush, crumpling away in embarrassment. </p>
<p>"Don't worry, it was kinda hot," Barney says, his voice now close to your ear. "But only after I found out you didn't hate me, y'know?"</p>
<p>you look up at him, frowning. your reaction had been-- extreme, maybe, but... </p>
<p>you could understand. tentatively, you kiss his mouth again, stealing whatever else he was going to say. words weren't important. actions meant everything.</p>
<p>he kisses you back, slow and sweet. lidded hazel eyes, dark, bushy browns relaxed. you cup his cheek with one hand. this time, between breaths and whispered words, the kiss lasts much longer. it never treads too deep.</p>
<p>something impacts on your back. not the solid weight of a hand, hell, it's not heavy at all-- judging by the croak, it's the frog. toad.</p>
<p>you burst into wheezy laughter, letting your weight fall completely into Barney's.</p>
<p>"Is that Glockstein? Is Glockstein being homophobic?" Barney asks, peering over your frame. his full, rumbly laughter is music to your ears.</p>
<p>it's such a pleasant contrast to your own, you think dumbly.</p>
<p>"Nah, Glockstein says gay rights," Barney says, booping the frog on the nose. "God, Gord, I love it when you laugh."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hank and Lauren said: give us screen time <br/>and what could i do, if not oblige?</p>
<p>and remember: the author giveth, the author taketh.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. sing while you hear it, don't deny it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hazard Suit training... did a lot of this."</p>
<p>you're sprawled, partially undressed, on Barney's couch. cold ice is pressed to the worst of your bruising-- which, by now, was turning a myriad of ugly colors. a clear indent from the armor's heavy collar was still fixed into your chest. between words, you poke at it. </p>
<p>it hurts.</p>
<p>"It's padded, but the AI is like a newborn baby. Can't do anything until it bonds with you."</p>
<p>short words, keep your arm movement minimal. hope Barney can infer some of what you're trying to convey.</p>
<p>"So I got hurt a lot. Thought it was going to kill me, it squeezed so hard. I took a weird step, or moved my arm wrong..."</p>
<p>Barney hums softly. you're laying partially on him, back pressed against his chest. he's warm and solid. </p>
<p>"It doesn't sound very pleasant," he says into your ear. his mouth presses down in an open kiss, one of many he's been sneaking onto you all morning. each time, you shudder with surprise.</p>
<p>"No," you agree. it wasn't very pleasant at all.</p>
<p>you debate telling him about the no-power exercise. thinking about it leaves a sour taste in your mouth-- if not for Vance, what would have happened to you? it made you appreciate the HEV when it was alive, at least.</p>
<p>you've been referring to the HEV as a "living" suit ever since you put it on. you don't know how to feel about that, either. personifying a machine was dangerous. couldn't be healthy. but the human mind seemed to be predisposed to that-- if it talks, and behaves in ways you don't understand, well, some kind of independence was bound to be inferred.</p>
<p>perhaps if they afforded you an in-depth knowledge of the suit, you wouldn't be struggling with such notions. Eli had to know something, then. he was one of the overseeing advisors. Dr. Cross, perhaps.</p>
<p>even if her only involvement now were holographs, a technological feat of itself, you know she works in your department. AnMat, test chambers, several years your senior.</p>
<p>you haven't met her yet. </p>
<p>you crane your neck to look up at Barney.</p>
<p>"Do you know Dr. Cross?"</p>
<p>Barney's expression contorts, concentrating. you press a kiss to the underside of his chin just to watch him blush.</p>
<p>it's nice to kiss him. feels good.</p>
<p>"Cross... uh, I see her suit up for the test chamber sometimes. She's got her own lab, but I don't cover that side often," Barney says thoughtfully. "What's up?"</p>
<p>"I want to learn about the HEV," you admit.</p>
<p>"Sounds like a good idea. They seem cagey about it," Barney says.</p>
<p>he pulls you just a little closer. his chin rests on your head, and like this, you can hear- or feel- his pulse. content, you press your ear against his neck, eyes lidded. </p>
<p>his hands play with the ice resting against your ribs. tentatively, you grab his fingers, blindly lifting up his arm. his left, because his right one is healing. </p>
<p>some creatures, he told you. strange, flesh-colored blobs with knife-like legs. aliens.</p>
<p>you can't scoff it away. it's plausible. </p>
<p>Barney hasn't lied to you yet.</p>
<p>you squish his fingers between your own. calloused pads, rough palms. thick and blunt. you kiss each finger tip, try to kiss his palm, but he tries to grab your nose.</p>
<p>you lick him.</p>
<p>"Gordon!" Barney splutters, bringing his hand away. "What was that for!"</p>
<p>you watch him wipe his hand off on the sofa before sticking your tongue out at him. </p>
<p>"Hurt nose," you say clearly. "Don't touch."</p>
<p>"Oh, yeah," Barney says, sounding apologetic. "What happened there?"</p>
<p>you don't know how to answer that. face-planting was an easy enough explanation, but for the bulk of the exercise after you had suffered through it with a broken nose--</p>
<p>--until you broke your leg, which warranted the emergency aid station. and you definitely didn't want to talk about that.</p>
<p>you kiss his chin again. that's something to discuss... later.</p>
<p>you twist around, breaking his loose hold. the ice packs fall into your laps, which some part of you has the forethought to remove. they drop onto the ground with a solid thud. Barney looks up at you with questioning, bright eyes, an eyebrow slightly raised.</p>
<p>you kiss him on the mouth. a firm, demanding thing. you're curious, you're yearning to do more. </p>
<p>as Barney tries to react, just a moment after, your teeth clash. you kiss around it, only meeting his lips again when he chases you. warm hands on your sides, fingers exploring each curve and inch of skin. your hands grip his shoulders, keeping yourself steady.</p>
<p>feverish, aggressive, almost harsh, on your end. your energy is met with a languid, almost lazy response-- gentle bites refuted, tongue accepted sometimes. it takes you too long to adjust.</p>
<p>come back down. </p>
<p>you break away with a hot breath, face flushed. Barney may be red in the face, covered in that full-body blush, but he looks sheepish, even concerned.</p>
<p>"I will say that was hot," Barney starts, and your stomach does a weird flip. "But you've gotta warn a guy, Gord."</p>
<p>your head drops into his shoulder. he tangles his fingers in your hair-- after he combed it, it's much easier to play with, so you sigh as he just starts gently pulling, letting the locks bounce and cling. his free arm hugs your waist.</p>
<p>"Let's try again," Barney growls into your ear. </p>
<p>you damn near faint. he needs to speak like that again, maybe forever, because you had no idea he could go that low, with so much raw emotion. your skin is still rippling with goosebumps when you lift your head--</p>
<p>and he kisses you this time, giving you no time to react or think. but he's slow. gentle. warm fingers crawl across your skin with a feather-light touch-- even distracted, he's careful, considerate, but the slight twinges of pain don't necessarily detract from the experience. you fall into his rhythm almost gratefully.</p>
<p>one large hand finds your chest, squeezing the muscle there. you tense involuntarily-- not because it hurts, but because you've never liked focusing there. goosebumps and electric zings flow from where his fingers prod, thumb rubbing along the groove of your top surgery scars. </p>
<p>if you break the kiss for a panting breather, Barney doesn't comment. if you lock eyes, hazel on green, and he smiles at you, tender and gentle with no searing, violent questions, well, </p>
<p>you kiss him again, this time with trust. </p>
<p>his mouth parts, so you ease your tongue in. you grasp his bottom lip and suck, very briefly, before pressing a series of quick kisses along the edge of his strong jaw and right down to his neck. Barney makes a low growl that has you biting down impulsively--</p>
<p>which really makes him cry out then. </p>
<p>you fixate on the spot, licking and suckling, knowing that it'll leave a mark. then you start to migrate, trailing feathery kisses along the groove of his clavicle. Barney's hands slide up your back, wandering and tracing--</p>
<p>The door slams open.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Gordon springs away from him so fast that it's almost like he was never there, but the evidence is scattered all over both of them. Barney can't even school his face into nonchalance-- he's still breathing heavy, skin flushed red, neck aching where Gordon bit down. He digs his nails into the back of the sofa, but it does nothing to get rid of Hank.</p>
<p>Who seemed to be shocked into silence, eyes wide. He's even holding the door open, letting the cool indoor air wash away into arid New Mexican heat. The unadulterated sunlight does very little for improving Barney's mood.</p>
<p>"Close the door," he says roughly. "Oh my God, Hank. What the hell?"</p>
<p>"You guys <em>are</em> dating! You're both so bad at lying," Hank says with a smugness. He finally closes the door, far more carefully than when he opened it.</p>
<p>"I-- we-- it's a new development?" Barney stammers, suddenly stunned. <em>Dating.</em> </p>
<p>They hadn't asked each other out. Not even a preliminary conversation. Just... a goddamn kiss.</p>
<p>"I bet," Hank snorts. "Y'all look halfway to a new development, alright."</p>
<p>Thankfully, Hank just shakes his head, grinning like a loon, before disappearing down the hall. There's a weird spring to his step as he moves, but Barney's still too frazzled to parse that. All he knows is that the moment between he and Gordon was worse than dead.</p>
<p>He sinks down into the couch, jumping when a cool hand touches his knee.</p>
<p>"Gord?" Barney says, looking up. Gordon was creeping closer now, rubbing his thigh apologetically. "Don't be sorry, man. Maybe we should go to your house?"</p>
<p>"We're definitely boyfriends, right? Partners?" Gordon asks instead, his expression grim. </p>
<p>"Partners, definitely," Barney breathes. He takes one of Gordon's hands in his own. "We should-- go somewhere. If you want."</p>
<p>As expected, in some way, Gordon shakes his head. No good. He reiterates going back to his dorm, back in the guts of Black Mesa. More privacy there. Closer to work, if Barney stayed that long. </p>
<p>"Absolutely. Just-- just gotta get my clothes. And Glockstein," he adds in a confused afterthought. "We'll figure it out, man."</p>
<p>Gordon nods, smiling.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Water had been flowing pretty steadily through the metal-concrete-stone tunnels overhead. Lauren can hear the trickle from where she stands guard at the door and has already followed it for an impressive twenty minutes on a previous patrol. It's muffled in some areas, and disappears entirely in others, but the sound of water is unmistakable. She can't help but wonder where it's going, and why.</p>
<p>She checks her wristwatch. Ten minutes left on this particular station, then she rotates back to patrol, ending with security footage. Review, circulate, destroy. </p>
<p>"Good afternoon, Officer Stanson," a scientist says. "My ID."</p>
<p>"Afternoon," Lauren says, eyes snapping back to attention. "I haven't seen you in the flesh for awhile, Dr. Cross."</p>
<p>"No, I suppose not," Dr. Cross says, smiling wryly. "I've been off-base."</p>
<p>The panel beeps happily as Dr. Cross's ID as admitted. Lauren steps aside to let the Hazard instructor through, suddenly realizing something.</p>
<p>The Instruction Courses were behind this door. Took up the whole damn Sector, really. Dr. Cross was here in person and water was rushing overhead. There had to be a connection there. Shame she wasn't due for the inside this week, but that was a different squadmate.</p>
<p>Guess she'd just have to ask about it in the break room, then. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>"Oh, Gordon, it is good to have you back," Kleiner says upon your arrival. he steps toward you, arms spread for a hug that you can't deny. </p>
<p>hugs with Kleiner were nice, comforting, a sense of security-- but anxiety-inducing, in some ways. pushing 60, he was starting to become frail. nowhere else was that clearer than in a hug.</p>
<p>you squeeze him for good measure before stepping away.</p>
<p>"Good to be back," you say, smiling. "Anything new?"</p>
<p>you hadn't had a chance to catch up on AnMat news-- or any news, for that matter. </p>
<p>"There's a cooler of brand new specimens that came in just yesterday," Dr. Kleiner says with excitement. "I was hoping you could take a look at them. How are you feeling?"</p>
<p>"I'm alright. Where are they?"</p>
<p>you were happy to look, to study, to discover. some specimens had become commonplace-- typical responses backed up by years of research, while others remained enigmas. of course, they were all anomalies, no matter how well-studied they were, but that was neither here nor there.</p>
<p>you follow Kleiner to his own lab. he runs a tight ship, even if he's loose with his keys. it's always nice to meet his interns and new faces--</p>
<p>for the most part. </p>
<p>your reputation tends to precede you.</p>
<p>the chilly fridge air brings you back to the present.</p>
<p>"So the first two racks are all new samples," Kleiner is saying. "I trust in you to know what to do with them, Dr. Freeman."</p>
<p>you smile. it's the purest form of praise, being called Doctor by your father. </p>
<p>you each take up different parts of the lab. you're back in your element. nothing can harm you here. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>A single scientist and an entourage of Security stalk the halls. A cart, nestled safely between them, squeaks as it bears its heavy load. Unguarded doors are bypassed via Indigo Shift privilege. The cart shakes beneath the Scientist's hands. Someone touches the butt of their gun.</p>
<p>Water rushes indiscriminately into a pool, deeper than it is wide. The intense fluorescent lights expose the liquid for what it really is-- dark, murky, filthy. Brown foam forms a thick, toxic blanket that clings to the sides of the pool.</p>
<p>Jameson looks away. He sneaks a glance at Titus, but the guard two years his senior has nothing to give. </p>
<p>The cart is pushed into a maintenance tunnel. It squeaks, wheels catching on imperfections in the disused floor.</p>
<p>Fourth door down, a Security badge to coax it open. In goes the cart and the entourage of guards.</p>
<p>"Careful, now. Don't be too close when you open it."</p>
<p>The tarp covering the cargo hits the ground with a crackly whoosh. Someone bundles it up, drapes it across their shoulder. A glass cylindrical pod sits almost serenely. </p>
<p>Its contents are asleep. For now, at least. Jameson tries to look everywhere but the pod as he rolls it off the cart. Gentle, gentle goes the push.</p>
<p>Steady, steady goes the stop.</p>
<p>"Everyone out," Titus says. "Come on. Behind the door."</p>
<p>Single file they all squeeze back in. The scientist is furthest from the door, shielded by layers of bodies and kevlar vests. Titus takes point, body solidly past the threshold of the door.</p>
<p>He draws his gun. Everyone covers their ears. Sound tends to reverberate endlessly here.</p>
<p>He fires. The pod's latch springs open and it's prize comes alive with a cry. It rolls out of its cage like a fat sausage, three legs flailing.</p>
<p>Titus slams the door shut. Makes sure it's locked tight before ushering his Squad back down the tunnel.</p>
<p>If the hall echoes with the sound of a despondent, otherworldly cry, well, no one hears it. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Barney settles the purple toad into the makeshift terrarium Gordon had built. Beside it was a plaque full of instructions, detailing how to maintain humidity, day/night cycles, and potential feeding routines. It was a very endearing effort, Barney had to admit. Despite the both of them knowing nothing about the one-eyed creature, Gordon had done his best to approximate a safe space for it.</p>
<p>"Where'd you even get such a big tank?" Barney asks, gesturing to the 150-gallon. "Why do we have fish tanks here?"</p>
<p>"You tell me. You've worked here longer," Gordon replies, smiling lightly. "I asked Kleiner."</p>
<p>"Huh..."</p>
<p>Glockstein steps around its new environment on ginger feet, red eye wide and alert. Barney watches it make its way to the pool of water, sliding into it, then crawl into the 'cave' at the opposite end of the tank. Desert rocks had been repurposed for the frog, stacked against one another to form a safe enclosure.</p>
<p>"What does Kleiner think about this?" Barney asks, draping an arm around Gordon's shoulders. He kisses the space behind his ear.</p>
<p>"Dad knows better than to ask," Gordon says, shoulders shaking with a silent chuckle. Then his cheeks color, embarrassed.</p>
<p>Barney blinks, taking a moment to connect the dots. Were Kleiner and Gordon related? No, they had different last names. But that wasn't a good indicator of relation, either. He looks at Gordon, wondering if he should pry.</p>
<p>"It's a long story," Gordon says, as if picking up on his confusion. "Kleiner adopted me when I was... 16, or so. His family was close to mine."</p>
<p>"I didn't know that," Barney hums thoughtfully. "You grew up in Seattle, right?"</p>
<p>A short nod. "I'm glad not to be back there. New Mexico is fine."</p>
<p>"Cheers," Barney says. "I don't... like my hometown either. Bad memories."</p>
<p>Glockstein chirps from within its cave. Barney turns to watch him, surprised to see the toad glowing a pale red hue. Its single red eye has fallen half-closed again, apparently a sign of comfort. </p>
<p>"I think he likes it," Barney murmurs. "What do you think?"</p>
<p>Gordon agrees with a small peck on the lips.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>happy with this chapter? maybe. i think i pushed it too far past its natural end.</p>
<p>welcome Indigo Shift.</p>
<p>ALSO: FANART!!! everytime i look at this i get so fucking excited its so good<br/>its by sawbbones on tumblr and it's for ch. 12 i love it so much<br/><a href="https://sawbbones.tumblr.com/post/620597707836358656/a-piece-i-did-for-bellygunnr-s-freehoun-fic-i">FANART</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. you take a rallying breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw for: drowning, burning, guns, dark rooms, drugs</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>wakefulness comes in slow waves. the barest hint of consciousness, the awareness of a dream sequence whose contents is slipping away like sand through fingers. an all-encompassing warmth coupled by a blanketing sense of security, the overwhelming feeling of being safe so intense that the urge to cry from it is the thing that wakes you up in the end. you blink your eyes open to a blurry, dark world, but Barney is unmistakable.</p>
<p>you're draped atop him, nestled in the solid embrace of his arms. his neck is craned at an uncomfortable angle, soft snores drifting from parted lips, while you're fairly certain that you both have your legs entangled. reluctant to move, you simply turn your head, pressing your nose into the crook of his neck. your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the steady beat of his pulse.</p>
<p>alive, strong. intelligent, humorous. resilient. for every trait you think of, you let a finger fall against his skin. you idly stroke his chest, momentarily distracted by the sheer amount of chest hair he has. it's thick and black, kind of coarse. you're also somewhat fondling his muscles, but Barney did have a lot of them. </p>
<p>you grasp the bulk of his forearm, running your fingers over his bare skin. curiously, you press down with gentle, prodding motions, confirming the presence of fat and muscle. you freeze when you hear a sharp intake of breath, then a snort.</p>
<p>Barney sits up rather abruptly, taking you with him. his arms fall away so he can rub at his eyes, wiping away the first dredges of sleep. you carefully slide off him and back onto the mattress, though it takes some finagling.</p>
<p>"Wh-- Gordon?" Barney says, his voice thick with sleep. "Did I wake..." he breaks off into a wide yawn, eyes watering at the corners. </p>
<p>you can't help but think it's the best thing you've ever seen.</p>
<p>in answer, you coil your arms back around his middle, resting your head on his shoulder. no, he didn't wake you up, but you were really enjoying what was going on before. besides, the clock still read a mere six am-- you both could afford to laze around. </p>
<p>just for a little bit longer.</p>
<p>"Six is too early," Barney slurs. "Mmm... look at your hair, babe," he says, landing a heavy hand on your head. </p>
<p>fingers parse through curls undoubtedly tangled and frizzied, ruined by sleep. you let him bring certain unruly locks away from your face, which, against your will, you chirp about.</p>
<p>Barney looks at you, eyes shining so bright, curious, and you can't help but hide your face.</p>
<p>you thought you had stamped down that habit-- "habit," your brain corrects bitterly. quite like flapping your hands, it was not something you could control, but it was something that you spent years ironing out of yourself. even under your father's guidance--</p>
<p>gentle, encouraging voice pressed close to your ear, accompanied by a slow rubbing against your shoulder.</p>
<p>Barney was the only person you felt safe to be yourself around.</p>
<p>"Are you alright, Gord?" Barney murmurs. his hands grasp yours, prying free the fingernails that you had dug into his skin. you nod against his frame.</p>
<p>slowly, you push yourself up, sitting upright. you feel cold without Barney pressed right against your skin.</p>
<p>"I'm okay," you say. "It's hard to explain but... thank you, Barn."</p>
<p>you never liked explaining anything about yourself, so you hope he takes your gratitude at face value. </p>
<p>instead, he just looks at you, head cocked to the side like a dog with a question. then he relaxes, smiling, and pushes himself closer to you.</p>
<p>he kisses you, so you kiss him back. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Dr. Vance rubbed sleep from his eyes for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. Papers and screens stared back at him, unchanged despite how long he's been trying to work on them. There was a lot here-- all over one Dr. Gordon Freeman, who seemed oblivious to just how well he performed in the HEV suit. The last person to break records during the 'calibration' stage of HEV testing was Dr. Colette Green, and that was years ago.</p>
<p>He was glad that he did not oversee those tests.</p>
<p>"You need to take a break, Eli."</p>
<p>Azian's quiet tones startles him out of his thoughts. He leans back in his chair, looking up at his wife with a smile. </p>
<p>"You're right, dear. How long has it been...?" Eli asks, carefully taking his wife's hand to look at her wristwatch. "That long? I must have lost track of time!"</p>
<p>"It's getting late, too. Let's go to bed. Alyx is already asleep," Azian says, spinning Eli's chair around. She kisses the top of his head for good measure.</p>
<p>"You're right. Let me just... get everything saved and put away. I'll be right there, Azian."</p>
<p>Guilt gnaws at him. It had been a long time since he had broken their routine-- but in this case, he wasn't sure if he had a choice.</p>
<p>Administration seemed to have a vested interest in this particular case. </p>
<p>The monitor goes dark as the computer shuts down. Eli goes to bed with his wife.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The Sector C breakroom seemed to always be a few degrees warmer than the rest of the underground facility, no doubt due to the small kitchen in the back and the myriad of appliances clustered around the room. Barney tugs at his collar to try and ease the stagnant heat, sighing.</p>
<p>“It’s good to get off my feet, but lordie it’s hot!” he complains, leaning back on his plastic chair. “How do you stand it, Dr. Freeman?”</p>
<p>“I’m not wearing a bulletproof vest and a helmet,” Gordon deadpans, taking a long drag of his hot coffee. “But these ties are ridiculous.”</p>
<p>Barney snorts, nodding. “Got that right. Hey, I’ve got this book I want you to read… it’s called <em>The Truth about Aliens</em>, have you heard of it?”</p>
<p>He grins lopsidedly as Gordon just shoots him a look, eyebrows climbing into his curly frizz. </p>
<p>“I got the extra copy today. It’s one of my favorites, so you have to read it, Doc. I promise it’s good!”</p>
<p>“Why would I doubt your tastes, Barney?” Gordon says, looking even more skeptical. “Is it on you?”</p>
<p>“Ah, no. It’s at my dorm! But I’ll bring it to ya tomorrow, easy peasy,” Barney says, smiling. He tries not to think about his shoulder, instead focusing on the vague memories of the book. It was one of his favorites-- especially because it was the closest to being right. But that was neither here nor there.</p>
<p>He takes a scalding sip of coffee, choking when he sees Dr. Vance enter the breakroom. He had no idea he was at work today.</p>
<p>“Gordon,” Dr. Vance says, approaching the table. “Do you have a minute?”</p>
<p>Gordon blinks slowly, surprised. “Yes,” he says simply, already rising to his feet. He offers Barney a short nod, indicating that he’d call him later.</p>
<p>The breakroom hums in silence now that Barney sits alone. As the last of Gordon’s lab coat disappears around the corner, he can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. </p>
<hr/>
<p>That night, Gordon texts him something about not being in the labs for a couple days. Something about the hazard suit. Barney can't help but be somewhat anxious-- the last time he got involved with the suit, everything had gone to shit.</p>
<p>At least Glockstein was here. The chumtoad sat on his chest, cool and glowing. He rubs his thumb over its spiny, slightly damp head, mindful of his eye.</p>
<p>"Think he'll be okay, lil' guy?"</p>
<p>A low chirp in response.</p>
<p>"Me too, man..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>[HAZARD ZONE 1: CONTAMINATED WATER]</strong>
</p>
<p>you stand on the precipice of something bigger than yourself. perhaps you’ve been standing here for months now, but the reality of it simply refused to settle in. now you must confront it. it feels inevitable, in a way, like your life had always been building up to this very point. armor-clad, safety orange, staring down the sealed doors of an airlock.</p>
<p>you cannot see beyond it. yet, in five minutes time, you will be past it. you will also be completely isolated, or so the advisors say. they will be observing you without input and without intervention, provided that you don’t die. that would be very inconvenient, or so they say with their eyes.</p>
<p>Dr. Vance is your only rock here. from the beginning, he has been your guiding light. a warm voice through blood tests and baseline comparisons-- confidence and praise in a job well done, even in the face of mistakes. mistakes were a part of life, after all. he knew you’d learn from them.</p>
<p>the rest of the Hazard science team were not so forgiving. you feel an uncomfortable squeeze thinking of them, but shake it off. thinking of them would only be a distraction now, and you can’t afford that. you do wish they’d told you what you would encounter past here, but maybe that was part of the test.</p>
<p>going in blind was better than ill-conceived notions of what was to come, after all. unfounded expectations could be deadly. expectations could warp into beliefs if left unchecked. best not let them form at all. you stare at the airlock doors. </p>
<p>they stare back.</p>
<p>the red light glowing imperiously on its patterned frame switches green. the doors open with a hiss. your footsteps are loud as you step through, metallic clanks that are dulled by the heavy helmet. the HEV suit is silent as the doors slide shut behind you. </p>
<p>the imperious light turns red once again. something mechanical rotates and clicks. locked in.</p>
<p>no way out. one way forward. </p>
<p>overhead, the rubbery, monotone voice of the Black Mesa reverberates through the room. you almost miss it, but the gist of the message is understood:</p>
<p>
  <em>Swim to the next room.</em>
</p>
<p>unfortunately, you’re faced by a completely smooth, faceless concrete wall. you can’t see or hear any water, though the HEV suit’s HUD does seem to be reading an unusually high humidity. and there does, upon closer inspection, appear to be a ladder bolted into the sheer face. it’s rusty, even rickety.</p>
<p>you immediately distrust the ladder’s ability to support your weight, but an alternative method to climbing the wall wasn’t immediately presenting itself. so one way forward, no way out.</p>
<p>one boot on the rung, two hands on the rung, second boot, then pull. pray that the calibrated suit won’t take your exertion for a life-threatening scenario and seize, then pull yourself onto the next rung. your armor makes it unwieldy. the ladder shakes in your grip.</p>
<p>midway, ten feet up, the bar just above your head falls apart. it separates entirely from the ladder as you bring away your hand, blinking in bewildered disappointment. you should have expected that. hell, you already didn’t trust the ladder. </p>
<p>but there’s only one way forward. you can get around a missing rung.</p>
<p>you steady yourself where you’re at. the HEV chimes at you, complaining of increased heart rate and elevated blood pressure. the ladder trembles within the squeeze of your hands. one leg up, brace, pull. try to account for the gap, scream silently when another rung falls apart beneath your boot.</p>
<p>caution be damned. you hurl yourself over the rest of the ladder, shaking the rusted contraption to pieces. one way forward, destination: the top of the wall that looks uncomfortably close to the ceiling. you even clock your head on it as you clamber onto the wall.</p>
<p>the margins are thin here. five feet wide, which is minimal clearance when weighed down by the HEV. behind you is a thirty foot drop. </p>
<p>in front of you, a vat of black, murky water. the HEV chimes.</p>
<p>“<strong>Warning: biohazard detected. Warning: hazardous chemicals detected.</strong>” </p>
<p>swim to the next room, so you have been told. you, under no uncertain terms, do not want to. </p>
<p>yet, for some reason, you settle yourself onto the wall so that your legs sink into the murky, stagnant water. you’re grateful that you can’t feel it. the suit insulates you from its temperature, though an exact reading of the ‘environment’ takes up a corner of your HUD. it’s labeled as potentially harmful. </p>
<p>you push yourself into the water before you can hesitate any longer. instantly, the suit becomes a living, humming thing, your skull vibrating with the volume of an internal alarm.</p>
<p>“<b>Aqueous submersion detected. Auxiliary oxygen deployed. Preemptive medical systems deployed.</b>” </p>
<p>your mask seals up, a solid screen that pinches your beard for half a second. the lights inside your helm switch on, providing very little in forward visibility, but definitely aiding in ocular adjustment. a second later, two sharp pains flare in your wrists.</p>
<p>IVs, then. on your HUD, an oxygen tank icon appears. 99%.</p>
<p>the ‘biohazard’ and ‘chemical’ warnings do not disappear. </p>
<p>around you, the suit tightens up, flush with your skin. the feeling of pure oxygen filling your lungs and rushing through your veins is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. it almost makes the foray into toxic water worth it.</p>
<p>the light provided by your chest-mounted flashlight (<em>aux power: 95%</em>, the suit chimes)  penetrates maybe three feet in front of you. before you can make sense of that, though, the HEV notifies you of a connection.</p>
<p>Gina Cross speaks directly into your ear. </p>
<p>“Now, Dr. Freeman, we want you to swim back to the top of the pool. After that, get to the next room by navigating the underwater obstacle course. The exit will have a green light. Good luck.”</p>
<p>three objectives. swim up, complete a maze, escape. simple enough. </p>
<p>but always easier said than done. </p>
<p>you crane your neck up, or in a way you hope is up. how deep is this pool? thirty feet? deeper? there’s no way of telling. you bounce on the balls of your feet to reassure yourself there’s solid ground. then you spread your arms and push.</p>
<p>there’s very little forward momentum. even less upwards momentum, which is to say, none. the weight of the suit has you moored to the bottom of the pool, but you cycle your arms through the water once more, this time with more force.</p>
<p>around you, the suit squeezes, loosening up after a moment. it warns of elevated vitals and increased oxygen usage as your fifth cycle lifts you off the ground. relieved, you immediately struggle to sustain the effort.</p>
<p>if the suit was heavy before, it’s heavier now. it weighs down on your body even as you force it through the water. each down stroke earns you an inch of height, while the time between seems to drag you down. your HUD displays 97% oxygen.</p>
<p>how long have you been down here, you can’t help but wonder. your muscles burn as you continue to propel yourself upwards. the suit moves around you, constantly adjusting. fear begins to pick at your brain, incited by the monotony of swimming. anxieties, no longer irrational, threaten to overwhelm.</p>
<p>elevated vitals, the suit warns. increased oxygen usage, the suit hisses. </p>
<p>your muscles ache. your lungs burn in spite of being able to breathe.  then your head breaks water and you gasp like you’ve been holding your breath. relief floods you-- you’re alive. with one last surge, you grasp the top of the wall, making sure to get a tight purchase before letting the rest of your body relax.</p>
<p>to your surprise, your body floats. you let your torso and legs skim the top of the water, muscles aching in the absence of strain.</p>
<p>the suit complains of elevated vitals. you grit your teeth as, in the same breath, it removes the IVs plunged into your right wrist. </p>
<p>good god. </p>
<p>“<strong>Auxiliary oxygen systems disengaged. Auxiliary power: 93%.</strong>“</p>
<p>the visored mask clinks as you rest your forehead against the concrete wall. you’re raised enough that the mask is above water and taking in regular, external air. even filtered, it stinks. it bathes your tongue, throat, and teeth. yet you would take it over the oxygen-assisted breathing any day.</p>
<p>but there’s one way forward, and you’ve only surmounted one task. </p>
<p>you grit your teeth as the slimy water rushes back over your head and the needles slip back into your veins. the HEV complains. your descent this time is much slower, confirming your suspicions of some kind of swimming aid provided by the suit.</p>
<p>what it is, you don’t know. but you’re lighter on your feet once at the bottom.</p>
<p>hesitantly, you push your way forward, using the flashlight as a guide. it illuminates shadowy, solid things that you use your hands to traverse. another wall, but there’s a lip here.</p>
<p>you grab and pull. green flares to life around you, a ring of LED. a tunnel of some kind? the water is flowing quickly, eliciting another warning from the suit. </p>
<p>out of curiosity, you let go.</p>
<p>you’re sucked through the tunnel--</p>
<p>
  <strong>[HAZARD COURSE ZONE 2: HEAT]</strong>
</p>
<p>--and deposited gracelessly onto your back. </p>
<p>lots of things happen at once.</p>
<p>the HUD dances with new alerts. temperature, contaminants, atmosphere, and filters. you involuntarily flex your wrists as once again, the needles are pulled out. steam is rolling off your damp frame in waves, which distorts and confuses your vision. </p>
<p>“<strong>Warning: extreme heat detected. Warning: heat damage imminent.</strong>”</p>
<p>the HEV repeats itself, even skipping a little, as another alarm starts to chirp in your opposite ear. the sounds overlap endlessly as you try to roll yourself to your feet, heaving, confused and disoriented. mashing your hands and knees into the ground nets you two things--</p>
<p>stability and hot, searing pain. </p>
<p>“<strong>Warning! Heat damage detected! Medical systems engaged! Morphine administered!</strong>”</p>
<p>your body sways as you force yourself upright. lingering pain digs itself into your palms, dulled slightly by the rush of painkillers. the landscape before you is consumed by smoke and fire-- a veritable inferno steadily burning everything in its path. remnants of furniture stand shabby and black amidst sparks and fire; directly ahead of you is a strip of flooring, unobstructed.</p>
<p>you break into a run. short strides, solid contact with the ground. smoke and fire and HEV alerts swirl around you. acrid burning singes the back of your throat-- filter quality is degrading rapidly. the door ahead shines green.</p>
<p>but your next step has you crashing to the ground. one of the shadowy, imprecise masses you had seen framing your path has collapsed, falling into burning pieces atop your body. heavy chunks of material pin you down, slamming your chest into the hot floor.</p>
<p>“<strong>Heat damage detected! Blood loss detected! Minor fracture detected! Morphine administered.</strong>”</p>
<p>you feel yourself slipping. the HEV suit is a constant mess of visual and auditory input. its reactive armor, that accursed living suit, is convulsing around you like an electrocuted snake because it’s new, it’s young, it’s untried--</p>
<p>and so are you. you are as new as it, as inexperienced as it. nothing could have prepared you for the situation you’re in now, this uncomfortable brush with death. you’re 27-- mortality should not yet be a sparkle in your eye, and yet, as your throat convulses and your body burns,</p>
<p>death feels near. your life is finite, and you were a fool for forgetting it.</p>
<p>but you grit your teeth, cutting off the ragged, raw scream ripping your throat apart, and smash your palms into the ground. you haul your body into a crouch, vision darkening with either smoke or pain, and drag yourself out of the shattered remains of a shelf. </p>
<p>the door is green. you lunge forward just as it starts to slide open, throwing yourself inside.</p>
<p>
  <strong>[HAZARD COURSE ZONE 3: BLACK]</strong>
</p>
<p>the door slides shut, taking with it the ghastly lights of the inferno. you immediately fall to your knees, crying out in a broken, raspy voice as the motion sends dulled pain coursing down your arm. you let yourself get lost in the visceral onslaught of sensation-- scorched suit, injured arm, whimsical delusions of morphine. </p>
<p>“Dr. Freeman! Dr. Freeman, please respond. <em>Gordon</em>!”</p>
<p>through the fog, you hear your name. you let it wash over you before working up the barest will to respond. a sandpapery cough of acknowledgement.</p>
<p>“A medical box is to your immediate left, Dr. Freeman. Can you see it?”</p>
<p>you twist your head to the left. there, above you, a white box and red cross does lurk. with short, shuddering gasps, you get yourself upright enough to grasp the coiled cable, unraveling it with shaky hands.</p>
<p>the HEV suit chimes as you shove the pointed plug into the front panel. the needle plunges into your chest and you gasp as, instantly, everything goes white. </p>
<p>you’re floating, somewhere high and far away from this yawning black room. the stitching of flesh and rapid regeneration of cells is a distant, out-of-body sensation. yet, all too soon, the medbox gurgles.</p>
<p>its supply of drugs and serum are cut off. the HUD clears itself up as your vitals stabilize. with great reluctance, you push yourself to your feet as the medbox goes dark, plunging you back into impenetrable blackness. blindly, you activate the suit’s flashlight.</p>
<p>“<strong>Auxiliary power: 80%.</strong>”</p>
<p>you make a noise of surprise. have you really drained that much power? from what? it’s not something you can worry about right now, but it is a mystery that would be nice to solve. you slot that away for later.</p>
<p>you can’t remember anything else you might have put away for later.</p>
<p>you’re exhausted. you have no idea how much time has transpired, or how much further you can go. there was a water room, then a fire room, and there’s no telling what this room is for. Gina Cross, nor the waxy intercom, seem to be liable to help you, either.</p>
<p>you take a rallying, steadying breath. then you step forward, following the high beam of your flashlight. tile flooring, relatively clean. an obstruction several feet ahead.</p>
<p>abruptly, something lunges out from the left side, blocking your way just ahead. then another thing leaps out, much closer, and it’s all you can do to stumble out of the way before yet another pillar smashes you into the next wall. the HEV stops you from falling flat on your ass.</p>
<p>it complains of heightened vitals. you want to tell it to shut up.</p>
<p>the flashlight illuminates the path ahead. one by one, the pillars start to recede. different intervals, you note. but you have no idea what could be on the other side. </p>
<p>fucking up’s not really an option here. the pillars shunk closed again-- intervals of five seconds. the one farthest from you triggers first. </p>
<p>one, two, three, four, five. inhale, exhale, breathe with the seconds. <em>shunk</em>. </p>
<p>one, two, three, four, five. inhale, exhale. the one closest to you <em>shunks</em>. </p>
<p>it recedes after two breaths. you step into its space. three breaths, step into the second’s space. four breaths. take up the third’s, then vault yourself into a solid wall. </p>
<p>elevated vitals, the suit complains. <em>shunk</em> goes the pillar, crushing empty space. </p>
<p>you peer down either side of the wall. left, yawning dark. right, the flashlight splashes back at you-- the corridor stops short, curving into a narrow path. you shuffle down it, keeping your left hand pressed to the wall.</p>
<p>you try not to think of the stiffness in your fingers.</p>
<p>the path leads you to a small opening. a pedestal with a red button takes up some of it. past it, your flashlight--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--reveals only void. the floor disappears. </p>
<p>tentatively, you shuffle closer to the edge until you can aim the light down. something metal greets you, long and wide. a blade.</p>
<p>a fan blade. it feeds into a pointed cap, which in turn contains four other blades. you look at the button, then down at the fan. </p>
<p>one way forward. death feels close.</p>
<p>at least the button feels satisfying to punch down. the shuddering groan of metal beneath your boots is less so-- that’s terrifying, inspiring a lurching sense of nausea. the fan is spinning up far beneath your feet, gradually at first.</p>
<p>as it picks up speed, you can feel the air tugging at your frame. debris flies past you-- clouds of dust and other things that you don’t want to think about. the HEV complains of particulates in the air and the mask filter icon takes up a corner of your HUD.</p>
<p>57% viability, the icon touts. you’re reminded bitterly of the room before.</p>
<p>you linger on the edge of the platform. the chopping of the fan blades is something the HEV won’t protect you from, should this hurricane fail to support you. but there’s no alternative path, is there?</p>
<p>no. there isn’t. </p>
<p>so you step off the platform. </p>
<p>
  <strong>[HAZARD COURSE ZONE 4: GRAVITY]</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>you plummet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>but before you reach the fan blades,</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>you start to rise. up, up, and away from the chopping blades you go, soaring unevenly through this dark steel column. you can’t see anything now, either because you closed your eyes or what, you can’t tell, but the void whips and pulls at your body. your stomach flips and twists.</p>
<p>you don’t see the bright green ring that heralds a job well done. you grunt as your back impacts something solid-- the ceiling, then? there’s no time to think because shortly after, the current lifting you up disappears. </p>
<p>gravity acts on you instantly-- just as quickly as you rose, you plummet once more.</p>
<p>slowly, this time, which has you blinking open your eyes to a bright room and a body still spread eagle-like in the open air. </p>
<p>“<strong>Anomalous materials detected. Atmospheric pressure interference detected. Auxiliary power: 77%.</strong>”</p>
<p>you look around. to your eye, there doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. this was a fairly plain room with standard lighting. the major difference was-- that gravity</p>
<p>appeared to be</p>
<p>reduced. </p>
<p>you tighten your core and gently land on the balls of your feet. then you jump, a short, experimental hop, and go much further than you expected. it was a pleasant change of pace compared to the usual HEV suit experience. but you would be a poor scientist-- physicist or otherwise-- if you didn’t try to discover what was going on.</p>
<p>after all, low gravity zones were unheard of on earth. specialized aircraft were utilized to create anti-gravity chambers. yet, here you were, hundreds of feet beneath New Mexico, floating leap to leap.</p>
<p>you ignore the greenlit door at the opposite end of the wall. you inch your way along the perimeter of the room, hands gliding across the tiled walls. occasionally, you scrutinized the floor, searching for something out of place.</p>
<p>the HEV remains silent, and the HUD provides no further input.</p>
<p>the only seam in the flooring is the tunnel from whence you came. even the ceiling is devoid of anomalies, and you’ve already scanned the walls. you cast a glare at the airlock door across from you.</p>
<p>beyond it could be the end of the test, or yet another trial. you were happy to delay it in favor of more scholarly pursuits. </p>
<p>so you start analyzing the floor tile by tile. it takes you five minutes to reach the center, when finally, something pops out at you--</p>
<p>the tiles here, in the center of the room, are larger than the others, framed by a thick black seam. immediately, you kneel down, only groaning a little when sensitive new flesh pulls the rest of your skin. you start to press down on the tiles, applying pressure in even intervals across the edges of each one.</p>
<p>when that fails, you dig your fingers in and pry. </p>
<p>the lip of one panel pops loose, which you grab tight and yank. to your chagrin, it just folds into an upright, open position.</p>
<p>so much for a needless show of force. you feel like you deserve to have some fun, at this point. at least you get to look inside.</p>
<p>you peer over the panel. inside, underneath a glass cover, is a cluster of very familiar crystals.</p>
<p><em>anomalous materials detected</em>, you think. you press your palm flat against the casing for good luck. through it, you feel the hum of electricity. the crystals were arranged in a circular configuration, with the largest taking the center. the tips sparked as current flowed either through them, or around them.</p>
<p>fascinating. </p>
<p>“Dr. Freeman, please proceed with the test,” announces the Black Mesa intercom. </p>
<p>you close the panel with the toe of your boot in the same motion of standing up. this was something you were going to approach either Vance, Cross, or Kleiner about. one of them had to know something. and if they didn’t tell you, well.</p>
<p>you’d find another way. unlike here, where the only way was one.</p>
<p>
  <strong>[HAZARD COURSE ZONE 5: GUN]</strong>
</p>
<p>thankfully, the next room is just as brightly lit, if less plain. your attention is immediately drawn to a set of large stalls and a fold-out table, the latter of which is loaded with guns. what kind, you have no idea. the handgun is easily recognizable but that begs the question-- why were the firearms necessary? what environmental hazards could be approached so callously?</p>
<p>you move past the makeshift firing range, searching for the airlock out. yet, all you find is a simple wood door with a square window. peering into it reveals nothing but another dark room and-- </p>
<p>an HEV charging station, bolted in plain sight. it glows of its own accord, just enough to bring attention to itself while keeping the rest of the room in darkness. beside it, giant metal doors denoted by a single red light.  you glance back at the guns.</p>
<p>there’s a correlation here.</p>
<p>you grab the doorknob and twist it open. the door squeaks on its hinges, a high, drawn-out whine. </p>
<p>“<strong>Foreign lifeform detected</strong>.”</p>
<p>what?</p>
<p>the alert is enough to make you freeze, breath caught in your throat. heightened vitals, the suit whispers, as if it didn’t just say something absurd. with a slightly trembling hand, you punch on the chest-mounted flashlight.</p>
<p>“<strong>Foreign lifeform identified… as <em>Houndeye</em></strong>.”</p>
<p>beneath the charging station, a lumpy form sits inert. your eyes skitter over it, trying to catalog all you can. it’s fairly large, seems to possess only three clawed legs, and appears to have leathery yellow skin. bright blue stripes adorn the large hump to its back, which, as you continue to stare at the thing, start to glow softly. </p>
<p>its rounded, headless front suddenly shudders. flaps of skin pull back to reveal a mound of glossy red-black eyes, all blinking independently of each other. with surprising ease, the creature-- this Houndeye-- climbs to its feet and stretches.</p>
<p>it is shaped like a canine, you have to admit. a dog’s body, sight hound-esque, save for the glaring anatomical differences. </p>
<p>“<em>Hostility detected at… 5%</em>,” the HEV whispers. “<em>Auxiliary power at 65%.</em>”</p>
<p>you remain frozen as the creature turns to look at you, its compound-eye glinting dangerously in the low light. now you understand the weight of the guns behind you. but, then again, what kind of scientist would you be if you simply shot things you didn’t understand?</p>
<p>the Houndeye makes a low sound, a mournful keen. </p>
<p>“<em>Hostility detected at… 0%,</em>” the suit informs you.</p>
<p>you watch it stagger to the far corner of the room, circle three times, and lie down. the breath you didn’t know you were holding comes out in one big rush, and the charging box looks far more accessible than before. you take one step into the room’s threshold.</p>
<p>the Houndeye merely makes a sighing noise.</p>
<p>you turn your back to the wall as you reach the box. its soft halo of light somehow eases the tension in your shoulders. with one hand, you pull the cable from its holster, noting the three-pronged end. an interesting format, really. the HEV reverberates around you as it starts to recharge.</p>
<p>all the while, you keep an eye on the alien, breath unnaturally loud in the confines of your helmet. you wince as the suit surges and pulses against speed-healed flesh. this test has been hell.</p>
<p>“<strong>Power levels at 100%! Have a very nice day!</strong>”</p>
<p>you ease the cable out and coil it back up. the HEV suit sounded really happy about being fully charged. stands to reason, you suppose. with a rallying breath, you push off the wall and approach the airlock doors.</p>
<p>the light overhead does not shift colors. it is crimson, imposing, and telling.</p>
<p>“Dr. Freeman, the objectives of this room have not been completed. Please familiarize yourself with the hazard suit’s munitions system.”</p>
<p>you blink slowly at the metal doors, sealed seamlessly together. </p>
<p>then you sit down, cross-legged, on the floor. </p>
<p>No. You would not do that, actually.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter gave me hell! A lot of it! So I'm glad it finally sorted itself out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. hard on equipment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW for: animal death</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Thank God, Calhoun. About time you got here!"</p><p>The white coat's high, slightly nasally voice is sandpaper to Barney's brain. He barely checks his wince, simply turning about-face to acknowledge the scientist, bracing himself for whatever demands they were going to make of him. He just got here-- hell, he wasn't even kitted out yet. What could be going that wrong?</p><p>"The computers in my lab have been malfunctioning all morning. Do something, won't you?" </p><p>What was this guy's name? Barney rubs at his eyes, squinting at the man's badge. Dr. Garcia, yeah, okay. Anomalous Materials. Couldn't even play the "not my department, Doc" card. God damn.</p><p>"Lead the way, sir," Barney says, hoping that he doesn't sound nearly as out of it as he feels. Last night had been rough, to say the least, for an embarrassing reason. "I'm sure I can get it sorted out."</p><p>Depending on what it was, of course. Blue Shift didn't have a dedicated IT branch, not like the folks topside. If he had to outsource anything, it'd be hell to get the paperwork together. </p><p>It was hell just trying to catch up with Dr. Garcia. He rubs the back of his neck, willing the aching to fade out of his muscles as they walked. </p><p>"Are, uh, any other folks having issues on this floor?" Barney asks, following the scientist into his lab. It was a small one, he notes. Not fantastical and expensive like Kleiner's or Vance's.</p><p>He wonders what kind of lab Gordon would get, when he inevitably soars to that point. God, Gordon was so smart. It was a wonder that he was still playing gopher with wits like his. The man could talk circles around his colleagues, even if he became an anxious mess elsewhere. Sometimes, Barney would goad him into getting impassioned, just to watch him talk. His expressions, always exaggerated due to his method of speech, instantly intensified, and he--</p><p>"--can't retrieve my files, or send them, to where they need to go. I've heard there might have been power issues in other departments, though, but my calls won't go through when I try to ask. Do you have any idea what it could be?" Dr. Garcia is saying, looking at Barney expectantly, hands on his hips with an imposing inflection.</p><p>Ah. </p><p>He hadn't listened to any of that.</p><p>"Well, uh, I'm guessin' if there's power issues--" Barney starts, then goes silent as the lights around them go dim. A brownout, he thinks dimly. Then they all go dark. Well.</p><p>"...I bet this is AnMat's fault," Dr. Garcia (presumably) deadpans, voice flat in the newfound darkness.</p><p>"Usually is," Barney wheezes, caught off-guard.</p><p>A second later, the emergency lighting flickers on, illuminating exits. Barney yawns despite the squeeze of anxiety in his chest, still tired and out of it. Today was going to be bad if it started off with a power outage.</p><p>"This ain't somethin' I can fix," Barney drawls apologetically.</p><p>"I know," Dr. Garcia sighs.</p><p>-</p><p>The cameras keeping an eye on Dr. Freeman were useless in the second chamber. Thick smoke obscured the lenses, no matter which way they faced, and his heat signature was lost among the flames. The Science Team punched open the airlock doors to open should they sense the HEV suit, just to make up for the fact that they couldn't see the man. Their best indicator of his presence was the real-time feed of the hazard suit and all that contained.</p><p>"Morphine has been expended. Power levels are dropping rapidly," Dr. Keller reports flatly into the recorder's mic. "Ambient temperatures around 475°-500° Fahrenheit." </p><p>Many of the screens displaying Dr. Freeman's vitals and suited frame flickered, revealing some parts of the armor to be in the red. Heat warnings flashed in red block letters. </p><p>"He's going to need a first aid station in the next room," Dr. Green observes. "I'll deploy one now."</p><p>"Good call," Dr. Cross says, leaning into her own mic.</p><p>Above their heads, the camera footage flickered, shifting to the third chamber's feed. Dr. Freeman's form lay prone just in front of the doors, a bright flare of color amidst cold flooring. The HEV's own feed still reported uncomfortably high temperatures both inside and out.</p><p>Dr. Keller reports these changes with the same inflection of someone reading a phone book, only pausing after several minutes.</p><p>Dr. Freeman had not moved from his spot for several minutes. At least his vitals were holding steady in all the wrong ways.</p><p>"Dr. Freeman, Dr. Freeman, please respond!" Dr. Cross says urgently, speaking directly to the HEV's radio. "Gordon!"</p><p>Finally, a hoarse, rough sound plays back at them, a cough.</p><p>"A medical box is to your immediate left, Dr. Freeman. Can you see it?"</p><p>It takes a minute more or so, but Gordon Freeman does see the box. They watch with sympathetic wincing as the man makes his way to the lit first aid station, then look away as he grabs its cord. </p><p>At least his vitals are stabilizing. </p><p>"God, hate those things," Colette mutters.</p><p>-</p><p>Black Mesa didn't have much in the way of clothing stores, but it did have at least a couple venues-- well, one, technically. The other only sold company merch, which while cheap and comfortable, was not what Lauren wanted to fill her wardrobe with. It was already filled with the company logo, after all. She was running out of clothes that made her happy.</p><p>In other words, yet another shirt from her original wardrobe had holes worn into the collar, and it was really time to update. </p><p>With Hank at her shoulder, of course. This, apparently, constituted as a date.</p><p>"We've had better dates than this," Lauren says with amusement, pulling at the hem of a t-shirt. It had a surprisingly floral print that faded into a cyan gradient. A bit gaudy, but...</p><p>"We've also been working for three months straight," Hank answers. "I'm takin' what I can get."</p><p>Oh, yeah. She was honestly surprised they maintained her day off, considering the rumored Big Event. At least it wasn't her problem anymore. She knows Barney hadn't been as lucky. </p><p>Lauren folds the shirt into her hand basket before moving on. It joins the pile with other t-shirts and sweatpants. </p><p>"Do you want to get anything, Hank?" she asks over her shoulder, lingering at the end of the clothing section. "Last chance. I'm gonna look at the..."</p><p>She pauses, eyes wandering to the back of the store. She didn't actually know where the nail polish and such was, really. </p><p>"At the nail polish if I can find it," she finishes, tensing only a little when Hank clasps her shoulder.</p><p>"I'm all good here," Hank hums. "Nail polish should be... that way? I think."</p><p>He points to the front of the store, closer to where the hygiene products had been located. That made a little sense. Lauren starts walking that way, nervous, but still smiling. It was a small step, but it was good. </p><p>"My sister is a nail artist," Hank says, still holding Lauren's shoulder. "I've learned a little bit from her, if you're interested."</p><p>Huh. She hadn't known that about Hank-- then again, he rarely talked about his family, or his life before Black Mesa. She winces at that thought. "Before" Black Mesa. Did retirees think of their lives as "Post"-Black Mesa?</p><p>"That'd be great, yeah," Lauren says. "What's your sister's name?"</p><p>"It's Hannah. She lives in New Jersey, last time I checked."</p><p>Two H names, huh. She was about to respond when Hank speaks up again, gesturing toward the makeup aisle beside them.</p><p>"Should be here. Y'know, I'm surprised Black Mesa carries this stuff at all. Seems like, weird? For a research place," Hank muses.</p><p>The aisle is filled to the brim with dozens of colors and small vials of sparkly goop. On the other side, fingernail care products were arranged, though closer inspection led to the realization that it was all a single brand. <em>Mac Blesa</em>, in curvy letters.</p><p>"Why are there so many...?" Lauren whispers, running her fingers along the many hues. She winces at the state of her nails-- blunt and chewed on. "Some of these are the same color!"</p><p>"I'unno," Hank says. "We can get a couple different ones. These look cheap. And a base coat," he adds, holding up a vial of clear fluid. "It helps the pigment from staining your nails."</p><p>"That can happen?" Lauren asks, brows furrowing.</p><p>-</p><p>The gravity chamber has the clearest view of Dr. Freeman yet. It is also the most stable his readouts have been since the test started-- hopefully, they wouldn't see any worrying or dangerous spikes for the rest of the day.</p><p>"Ah, if only he knew how much electricity it took to cause that," Dr. Keller chuckles. "We discovered this particular property completely by accident."</p><p>"I was there," Dr. Vance says dryly. He taps his pencil for a couple seconds, as if trying to think of what next to write. "It was astonishing. Really changed the way we looked at these specimens."</p><p>An almost companionable silence falls between the group, now set on recording and watching Dr. Freeman. Dr. Green watches his armoured figure muck about the room, as if searching for something. She can't help but smile, elbowing her partner in the side.</p><p>"He'll be a good second in the test chamber, eh?" </p><p>It takes awhile, but eventually they watch Dr. Freeman pop open the Xen crystal casing.</p><p>Dr. Keller leans into the intercom's modulator. "Dr. Freeman, please proceed with the test."</p><p>He seems none too happy with the order.</p><p>-</p><p>You had stood on the precipice of something bigger than yourself. Now you have challenged it, and in doing so, have comprehended the enormity of the world around you. This far-removed facility within the bowels of New Mexico, stranded as it was from civilization and all things normal, was a dangerous thing that well-deserved its proximity to the military. It was yet another example of sheltered, inflated academia thinking that the world was theirs to break simply because they understood it. Innsbruck had buried its bones with such endeavors-- but Black Mesa was just getting started.</p><p>You observe the Houndeye from the corner of your eye. From its sprawled position, you can see a gaping maw of teeth on its belly, fluttering with every breath. A strange place for a mouth, but you're also no biologist. The creature was pretty, in a way, if you looked past its many eyes. Could you touch it? Would it react poorly?</p><p>You think about the guns in the next room. Were you being asked to kill?</p><p>If you didn't kill it, were you simply delaying the inevitable? Was the thing set to die? It seemed awfully sluggish, but was that a matter of its biology or being drugged? How would it have reacted if you had shot? Why was it so important for you to learn how to shoot?</p><p>You were a scientist, after all. Violence was not in your job description.</p><p>Then again, neither was burning to death or hurling yourself into massive fans. Learning to maneuver in a multi-million dollar, glorified hazmat suit was new, and subjecting yourself to dangerous rapid cell regeneration was never on your bucket list. But the threads here were tangible-- you could trace these back to your elected profession. </p><p>Theoretical physics, exotic matter, crystals that were composed of the stuff. Where these crystals came from, you still didn't know, but if you had to hazard a guess, ha, the HEV was quintessential in acquiring them. </p><p>So why were you chosen for the HEV suit? </p><p>What had they been expecting from you?</p><p>You white-knuckle your knees. Whatever they had expected, it had been wrong. They underestimated you. </p><p>You climb to your feet. The voices over the radio cycle-- Green, Cross, Keller, Vance. The door won't open until this chamber's been completed. You'll open it yourself, then. The shotgun might work. You grunt raising yourself to your feet, smiling wryly as you realize one thing.</p><p>The HEV's radio was useless from your end. To that point, anything the Science Team said was merely a suggestion. You stride back into the shooting range-- then freeze.</p><p>You're not alone.</p><p>There's a man standing across from you, clad in a businessman's pressed suit, gripping a briefcase in one hand and a crowbar in the other. You stare, taken off-guard, into his eyes-- and when you try to look away, you find that you can't. His gaze is powerful, iridescent and blue as it is. </p><p>With a single smooth motion, he proffers the crowbar, an unassuming tool. </p><p>As you take it, more out of surprise than willingness, the world seems to slow around you. Only you and this man exists-- you and his eyes, glittering, otherworldly. He clasps your forearm as if in a handshake upon transferring the crowbar.</p><p>When he releases, you stumble forward, and he is gone. </p><p>You turn it over in your hands, perplexed. Then, slowly, you turn back to the room with the glowing charging station and snoozing Houndeye. With care, you step around it, then bring the crowbar around.</p><p>You wedge the crowbar's flat end between the two doors, heaving. The HEV suit pulses around you, then seizes upon your arms, giving you the strength to force the doors open a couple inches. With that purchase, you continue to push until your shoulders will fit.</p><p>Yet, before you can desist, the light turns green, letting both sets of doors slide open.</p><p>Instantly, the clicking of a Geiger counter rings in your ears. "<strong>Dangerous radiation levels detected</strong>," hisses the suit. "<strong>Preemptive medical systems deployed.</strong>"</p><p>
  <strong>[HAZARD ZONE 6: RADIATION]</strong>
</p><p>the next room has not a floor, but a cart. it shakes beneath your feet as you step onto it, instinctively reaching for some kind of guard and quailing when you find none. it rattles to life, pushing off from the wall at the whim of some unseen trigger. </p><p>behind you, the chittering of the Houndeye is heard. you turn to look; it hovers at the airlock doorway, then leaps with a surprising strength. </p><p>you pat its backside after it lands. in response, it chirps and bobs back and forth on its three legs, pleased. the stout alien seems to be full of surprises.</p><p>the cart spins on its rails, taking you around a mound of strange material. the Geiger counter intensifies as you round the bend. you flex your hands anxiously. </p><p>was the HEV suit really keeping you safe from this? at least the Houndeye was enjoying it, if its circling your legs was any indicator. you hope that it'll be alright.</p><p>the rest of the chamber goes by in a blur. before you know it, you're stumbling through the next door and into a brightly lit room.</p><p>
  <strong>[HAZARD COURSE: END]</strong>
</p><p>A gunshot rings out. The Houndeye collapses with a yelp, alien blood seeping from a hole in its hump. Apparently, that must be where the brain is, buried somewhere deep inside the flesh, because it does nothing else but slump into lifelessness.</p><p>"Congratulations, Dr. Freeman. You've passed the obstacle courses for the H.E.V. suit with flying colors."</p><p>Dr. Cross and Dr. Keller are approaching, a single pistol between them. </p><p>"We've got a lot of paperwork and contracts to finalize, now, so no time to rest. If you'd be so kind as to follow me?"</p><p>you wish that the precipice you stood on had crumpled into ash and rock beneath you, instead of holding out. the blood on the concrete makes your throat dry and your heart beat fast. it's hard to breathe.</p><p>"That was senseless," you say, gesturing to the fallen alien. "Cruel."</p><p>"It was right," Dr. Cross says solemnly. "And it was a warning, Dr. Freeman. Let's go."</p><p>you go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter.... is a doozy. not sure if i like it. im not sure if i was burning out or ignoring what the story wanted to do, so it's probably a little rough. tonal whiplash, and all.</p><p>the next couple chapters should be much better.</p><p>thank you again for your continued support and enthusiasm! your comments help a lot in keeping me going!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. we worry so much and see so little</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: illness, dissociation, injury, anxiety</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the meeting is a stern thing. it is a complicated thing with loud voices and tiny-text contracts, spurring the migraine quickly developing in your left temple since you've finished the tests. you're weak and nauseous, barely able to keep the urge to vomit down. it's good that you don't speak, probably; if you did, the expensive mahogany desk would be tarnished in short order.</p>
<p>you really wish they'd leave the legal jargon for after your recovery, but apparently some things couldn't wait. you level the science team across from you with a glare. they're talking about test chambers, radiation exposure, and the crystals of which you've been working with for the past six months. the tiny, yellow shards that hold so much more power than you'd been permitted to learn.</p>
<p>"Dr. Freeman, is everything alright?" Dr. Cross asks, breaking your reverie.</p>
<p>you look at her, a heavy sigh flaring out your nostrils. you offer her a single curt nod. some part of you feels poorly about the indifference, but-- you're tired. you have a lot to process still.</p>
<p>at least that seems to satisfy her, as the one-sided conversation picks back up. documents are shoved at you, insisting that you sign here or there, forfeit your rights to Black Mesa to lance your career into the aether. it'll be beneficial. it's a promotion. it's a lot of fucking jargon you can't read because you're exhausted and they know that and--</p>
<p>the scratch of the pen, the gleam of ink still wet, your name in black script, PhD. </p>
<p>"We're honored to have you on board, Dr. Freeman. We'll email you your updated work schedule in two weeks' time, but I must reiterate that it is mandatory for all Hazard personnel to familiarize themselves with Black Mesa's on-site weaponry, so we'll be arranging that appointment for you soon."</p>
<p>you grit your teeth, making your migraine pound with building intensity.</p>
<p>"The Houndeye," you finger-spell. "Are you not going to address that?"</p>
<p>the memory of its lifeless body is still seared into your mind. the solid weight, its leathery skin as you pet it, is fresher still, and you're forced to wonder, brought to mourn.</p>
<p>"Why does the HEV suit have it registered?" you press, hoping your desperation digs trenches into your expression and says more than you're capable of. </p>
<p>"I'm sure you're tired, Dr. Freeman," Dr. Keller says, rapping his fingers across the documents you had just signed. "I look forward to seeing you in the test chamber."</p>
<p>you try not to feel slighted as you nod, cowed and curt. </p>
<p>with shaking, sore limbs, you rise from the plush office seats and turn to leave, hoping that your dizziness is not as obvious as it feels. the door slides shut with a soft click behind you. </p>
<p>you stand alone, dismissed.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Kleiner is eating breakfast when the door to his dorm opens with not even a click. Gordon stumbles inside looking battered and disheveled-- sunken eyes with deep shadows, messy hair, and a stumbling, wandering gait that barely gets him to the kitchen table before collapsing. His toast and eggs are forgotten immediately as he stands up with a clatter, rushing to meet his son's side.</p>
<p>"Gordon! Goodness, what's wrong?" Kleiner asks, propping him up. He makes sure he remains seated while straightening out his back, heart twinging at the raspy groan he emits. "Silly question, I know. I'm going to help you stand. Let's get you onto the chair..."</p>
<p>Gordon whines at him, but Kleiner does manage to wrangle him onto a spindly wooden seat. He rests a hand on his shoulder, taking a moment to brush the auburn curls out of his face, noting the snapped hair tie resting on his shoulder. He briefly touches Gordon's forehead, just to check for a fever; he's relieved to find none.</p>
<p>"It's alright, now," Kleiner murmurs. He knows Gordon won't be able to answer, so offering reassurances and kind comforts is the best he can do. "You must have just finished HEV training, is that right? Let's get you some water, dear."</p>
<p>He smiles with relief as his son offers a familiar signal-- a thumbs-up, a holdover from when Gordon really couldn't talk. It was a good sign in more ways than one, but the anxiety gnawing at his bones didn't let up.</p>
<p>He makes sure the water is cold before raising it to Gordon's mouth, doing his best to follow his pace. His heart twists at the voracity he exhibits-- like he hadn't seen food or drink for days, and well, maybe that was the case.</p>
<p>It had been two days since Gordon had left for training, after all.</p>
<p>"Feel up to food?" Kleiner asks, lowering the now-empty glass. </p>
<p>A trembling thumbs-down, a sickly grimace.</p>
<p>"Let's get you into bed, then," he says, already moving to help him up.</p>
<p>It's a slow-going affair. Gordon leans his full weight on his father, feet stumbling when they don't drag, clearly trying to help but unable to. Kleiner makes soft noises of encouragement as they wobble down the hall, careful not to jostle him too badly when he pushes open the bedroom door.</p>
<p>He doesn't try to keep Gordon awake when he settles him, so gently, onto the still-rumpled mattress. He only releases fear in a sigh and tucks him beneath the covers, wishing that there was more he could do. But there was little to be done-- Gordon needed rest now.</p>
<p>The world could wait a bit.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Barney is coming off lunch break when he gets a summons to Sector C's security checkpoint. Anxiety immediately makes his heart race as the waxy announcement system finishes his name-- what could he have possibly done? The day had been slow as hell. So had the week, for that matter. He hadn't even scaled the vents, which had gotten him a write-up more than once, so it couldn't be that. Maybe a complaint? Assessment check? Shift change?</p>
<p>"Stop thinkin' so hard, Calhoun," Otis snaps. "It's Dr. Kleiner," he says, thrusting the phone at him.</p>
<p>"Huh?" Barney says dumbly, fumbling the phone. "Kleiner? Is everything okay?"</p>
<p>It wasn't Kleiner's shift today. He chews on the inside of his check, trying to school his expression into neutrality. Didn't Kleiner have his personal number?</p>
<p>"<em>Yes, everything's alright, Barney, don't worry</em>," Kleiner says. "<em>I just wanted to let you know that Gordon's back from training, if you want to stop by and visit later.</em>"</p>
<p>"Wh-- he is? That's good, uh, how is he?" Barney asks, grip tightening until the phone's plastic creaked. "Is he with you?"</p>
<p>"<em>He's sleeping right now</em>," Kleiner says. "<em>He just got back this morning, so it might be awhile.</em>"</p>
<p>"Right, yeah, definitely," Barney says hurriedly. "I'll- I'll be by after my shift. Around six tonight, Doc. Don't let him go anywhere."</p>
<p>Kleiner laughs, staticky. "<em>Definitely not. I'll let you go, Barney, now. Don't work too hard.</em>"</p>
<p>"See you soon," Barney wheezes, setting the phone down with a clack.</p>
<p>He doesn't quite look Otis in the eye before leaving, slightly overwhelmed. It was rare that the office let phone calls like that through. Kleiner must have really thrown his weight around. But now if it wasn't being fired he was scared of, it was Gordon's well-being.</p>
<p>While he didn't know a whole lot about the HEV suit, what he saw of it so far, he didn't like. Gordon had been pretty beat up by it. Hell, the thing had left some gnarly scarring. Who knows what condition he was in now.</p>
<p>Then again, he himself hadn't been in great condition when Gordon had returned. That had been a weird month, though. Kinda fuzzy, except for the kiss.</p>
<p>What he wouldn't give to kiss him again. Like right now.</p>
<p>"Are you going to move, Calhoun?" a voice says from behind.</p>
<p>Barney jumps, hastily stepping aside to let whoever was behind him through. A white coat, of course. Coomer, if he had to hazard a guess (it was on his name tag). </p>
<p>"Sorry, doctor," he says sheepishly. For good measure, he operates the elevator for him. </p>
<p>As the elevator rumbles, he checks his watch. Five hours to go until he's off, then he can see Gordon. It couldn't come soon enough.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Kleiner knew Barney to be a steady, jovial young man, so it was a bit of a concern when his voice came through shaky on the other end of the line. Yet, ultimately, it was not something he could dwell on for very long, as he had more pressing matters at hand. Gordon was sleeping fitfully at best, and he'd be damned before he left his side for very long.</p>
<p>It was still heartbreaking to watch, though.</p>
<p>He squeezes his son's hand, stroking his hair slowly as he twists and turns. </p>
<p>"Barney's going to be here soon," Kleiner says quietly. "He'll be glad to see you, I think."</p>
<p>Gordon seems to still, just marginally so. Kleiner leans down to press a kiss to his temple. </p>
<p>"You have me worried sick, Gordon. I guess it might be that shirt you're wearing, or the morphine. Probably the morphine," he sighs. "Damn those HEV suits. We'll get you sorted out, dear, don't worry."</p>
<p>He's not sure who he's trying to convince with that one. At the very least, Gordon's expression eases, and he burrows his face into the pillows before settling. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>consciousness does not come gently. it comes like a blow to the head, dragging you from the depths of sleep and into awareness with the subtly of a train wreck. you make a wheezing, groaning sound in protest, suddenly aware of the sensations wracking your body. sensations-- for it's a jumble of pain, thirst, and hunger. nausea settles in swiftly, making your stomach swirl and throat retch, but there's nothing to give. </p>
<p>your arms shake as you force yourself to sit up, jaw clenched through the maelstrom. there's a lot of blurry shapes in front of you, vaguely unfamiliar. the layout of the room is different, it seems. where are your glasses?</p>
<p>there's a lot of noise coming from overhead, but you're not sure where it's coming from. you grab at wood, then plastic, your glasses just barely grasped between your thumb and index. your skull pulses as you jam them back on, but at least you can see now.</p>
<p>Dr. Kleiner and Barney stand over you, looking worried and making noise. there's a thick fog in your brain, it seems, but the scent of food hits your nostrils. </p>
<p>"Hungry," you sign as concisely as possible. "Water."</p>
<p>Barney dips down to meet you, offering a bowl of soup. it's warm as he presses it into your hands, which you try to thank him for but only succeed in dropping the spoon. you blink at it disparagingly. </p>
<p>silverware could not be trusted, it seemed.</p>
<p>you raise the bowl to your mouth and drink. the broth is salty, yet watered down, but pleasantly hot against your face. it's scalding on its way down, jolting you back into your body. all at once, senses that had been evading you come back in full force.</p>
<p>"--<em>need to</em> slow down, son," your father is saying. his calloused hand lands atop your arm, encouraging you to bring down the soup. "Well, you have an appetite, so you can't be too far gone."</p>
<p>"Knew you'd be okay, Doc," Barney says, lowering himself onto the bed.</p>
<p>you lean into him almost instinctively, somewhat amazed by how much more human you feel after eating. unfortunately, as you touch Barney's clean clothes, you become aware of the sweat and grime coating your skin. with a lurch, you pull away, ashamed.</p>
<p>"Awh, Gord," Barney says.</p>
<p>"Shower," you sign, repeating yourself multiple times.</p>
<p>"It's right through there," Barney says, pointing to an ajar door. "We'll get some spare clothes for you, alright?"</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>the hot water manages to bring to light every wound and nick you'd been ignoring for the past two days. stinging pain flares to life in your arms, chest, and legs as the cascading water pummels your tender skin, but it's such a refreshing contrast to what you'd been feeling before that you weather it. you bow your head and hunch your shoulders just to let the pressure knead your muscles into oblivion.</p>
<p>you're much gentler when scrubbing yourself down, mindful of the open scrapes that you discover. ugly bruising discolors both your wrists, but it's not as painful as it appears, thankfully. you kind of wish that the HEV administered band-aids; the notion makes you laugh uncontrollably.</p>
<p>at least you weren't dead. you're fairly certain that death had been somewhat of a possibility, but that's not something you can process right now. god, it felt good to be clean. you stand in the hot stream long after you finish rinsing and scrubbing.</p>
<p>you've earned some self-indulgence, after all. damn whoever says otherwise. but all good things must come to an end, so you shut the water off and step outside.</p>
<p>the air is humid, mirror steamed into uselessness. you fumble with the clean clothes, noting with some distant humor that it's MIT-stamped sweat clothes. they're soft and baggy, a far cry from whatever the hell you had been wearing before.</p>
<p>you can't really remember. the door squeaks unpleasantly as you step into the bedroom, only to pass it completely when you find it empty. luckily, Kleiner and Barney are not far away.</p>
<p>"Ah, Gordon! Oh, dear, I think you're bleeding," your dad says, which is not what you wished to hear, so you shrug.</p>
<p>"That's not-- that's a bad thing," Barney sputters.</p>
<p>maybe so. </p>
<p>you stumble in to give your father a hug, pulling him in close. he smells like home-- not here, but your ancient home in Boston, of dust and wood. you swallow past the lump in your throat. exhaustion must be making you emotional.</p>
<p>it takes him a minute, but eventually he hugs you back, cradling you against his chest like only a father can. you smile into his shirt, noting that oh, perhaps you are bleeding, but that hardly seems important. </p>
<p>your jaw clicks uncomfortably as, suddenly, you yawn, muscles going weak with the extent of it. </p>
<p>Kleiner makes a considering sound, Barney goes 'ope!', and everything blurs again.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Gordon's in a hell of a state. It does nothing to appease his anxiety as he tends to the myriad of tiny slices and abrasions littering his torso, sealing them up with bandages. He presses a kiss to his forehead for every piece of gauze he tapes, mumbling something incoherent as praise.</p>
<p>"S'gonna be okay, Gordon," Barney mumbles. "Jeez, I really hate seein' what that suit does to you. Did this happen last time? I hope not."</p>
<p>With the final bandage done, he takes the time to brush Gordon's hair out of his face. The knot in his chest loosens at the pleasant, peaceful expression-- most, if not all, of the tension once lurking there has faded entirely. It's good. </p>
<p>He's good.</p>
<p>"Gordon," he sighs. "Man, I feel dumb gettin' so worked up, but I just can't help but be worried. Black Mesa has some choice trainin' programs, don't it? Have I ever told you about that, though... Don't think I have..."</p>
<p>Ack, he's rambling, isn't he? He shakes his head, admonishing himself. </p>
<p>"I'm gonna let you sleep, okay? Don't do anythin' funny," he says, voice low.</p>
<p>Yet, as he tries to stand up, he's stopped by Gordon himself. His hand darts out to grip his, squeezing his fingers with a surprising strength, and he's alarmed to find that the man is awake. Surprise and embarrassment make Barney color, a punched-out wheeze escaping him.</p>
<p>Gordon tugs on his arm with enough force to topple him. </p>
<p>"Wh-- you want me to stay? Don't ya think-- no? Alright," Barney says, laughing slightly. </p>
<p>He climbs into bed beside Gordon, wedging himself beneath the thin blanket with care. His arm finds its way around Gordon's shoulders, the two slotting together with ease. He lets his head rest against Gordon's as he wills sleep to overtake him.</p>
<p>and it does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you all so much for your support. i couldn't have done this without y'all, and i appreciate every comment n' kudos thrown my way. special thanks to my boyfriend, cosmicwoods, and other friends.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. hear the sleigh bells</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Holidays! Kind of weird holidays! Black Mesa world building! Gay rights! </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>a son.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Barney wakes up before Gordon. They're wreathed in the soft off-darkness provided by a night light, bodies pressed together, skin-to-skin where his shirt has ridden up. He tightens his hold around Gordon's waist, burying his nose in his hair. Smells faintly of shampoo, but now distinctly Gordon. He kisses the top of his head.</p>
<p>He could really use a drink of water. Or a watch, considering he had no idea what time it was. Scientists had it bad living so far underground-- how did they tell time without a million clocks all over the place? He'd lose it after the first week.</p>
<p>He starts to run his hands through Gordon's hair, taking care not to pull or aggravate any tangles. Shallow, surface-level strokes, accompanied by little kisses, almost rhythmic in pattern. More in-depth care could be taken when Gordon was awake-- and who knew when that was going to be.</p>
<p>Not that Barney was trying to be mean, of course. Gordon had trouble sleeping normally, so it was good his body was letting him rest after his training, considering how delirious he'd been coming back. He rubs his thumb across his cheek, eyes crinkling at the corner as he peers at Gordon with a fondness.</p>
<p>"S'alright," Barney murmurs. "I've got you."</p>
<p>He repeats this, pressing feathery kisses across his hairline. For a heart-stopping moment, Gordon shifts beneath him, head twisting around-- but he only slots himself deeper into the groove of Barney's frame, nose pressing into the space beneath his ear. Barney runs his hands down his side.</p>
<p>"I've got you," he repeats softly.</p>
<p>Gordon stills entirely with a final, contented puff of air across Barney's shoulder. They grip each other tighter; eventually, Barney slips back into sleep.</p>
<p>All is well.</p>
<p>
  <strong>[December, 2020]</strong>
</p>
<p>the clock has been ticking incessantly since you last sat down to work. it provides a driving, unchanging tempo to the pace of your writing, your body working independently of your brain. you're not entirely sure if it's going to be intelligible once you're done, but it was going to be done. having this turned in early was the least you could do for your frequent absences the past couple months. granted, they weren't your fault, but you've gotten the sense that it's slowed things down in the lab.</p>
<p>either that, or the majority of your coworkers were terribly inefficient at their jobs, a diagnosis you'd been holding out on for the sake of your own sanity. surely, in a titanic facility like Black Mesa, there'd be more than two or three proficient scientists at a time? or was that too much to ask? it was probably too much to ask. </p>
<p>the words you're writing are starting to blur. you rub at your eyes, determined to push the sleep back out, but exhaustion is curling around your bones like a snake. you grit your teeth and shake your head vehemently. maybe you should change tasks-- yeah, that sounds good.</p>
<p>you flick your computer back to life. there were some spreadsheets you needed to fill out, but god, the screen was giving you a headache to look at. you forge ahead anyway, only pausing when the office door swings open.</p>
<p>you're too tired to jump or do anything other than blink blearily, glaring uncomprehendingly at the person in the doorway. it takes you way too long to recognize them--</p>
<p>"Gordon! You'll be happy to know that my shift ends like, right now, so you need to join me back home, ya hear?" Barney says, his voice loud in the relative silence. he steps toward you, all purposeful strides and intention.</p>
<p>you stick your tongue out at him. he makes a face back, flicking on the overhead light. it reveals the extent of your caffeine-fueled work fury-- papers are strewn everywhere, covered with nonsensical anecdotes and sticky notes, with at least three binders split open on the floor. you pout up at Barney.</p>
<p>"I'm still working," you say, gesturing to your computer. it's still on the browser. you're not even logged in yet.</p>
<p>"You sure are," Barney says, taking it all in with a raised eyebrow. "Please come home? It's three in the morning, darlin'."</p>
<p>you throw your head back, slumping back into your chair. you know Barney's right-- but there's something else here. it felt like you were forgetting something. what was it? you stare at Barney critically, as if that was going to offer any clues.</p>
<p>"Please?" Barney repeats, resting a hand on your shoulder.</p>
<p>oh, maybe he's worried. you're not sure. it's pretty late, but facial expressions are impossible to parse on a good day. you finally nod. surrender.</p>
<p>"Let me help ya clean up, then," he says.</p>
<p>you immediately leap into instructing him, despite being reluctant to accept the help. he watches you intently, then starts to pick up certain documents. you're not sure if he's supposed to be seeing these things, actually. </p>
<p>oh, well. too late now. you start to help him clean up. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>you're on the tram to Topside Dormitories when you remember. Barney didn't have a shift tonight. he was only working day shift this month, which you know because he was excited about it. with a raspy growl, you turn and smack his shoulder.</p>
<p>"You didn't have work tonight!" you snap, frowning.</p>
<p>Barney raises his hands, grinning sheepishly. "But it got ya back home, didn't it? Don't worry, I'll be fine!"</p>
<p>you kiss him on the mouth, but it's a little angry. he laughs into it, pulling you into a tight hug. </p>
<p>"We're gonna be so tired tomorrow," Barney giggles, nuzzling into your cheek. "You gonna be okay?"</p>
<p>the tram judders violently before coming to a stop. you pull Barney to his feet in answer, guiding him off the tram and into the chilly New Mexican night. neither of you speak until you reach Barney's bed, which is still messy and unmade.</p>
<p>you hook onto him like a koala. sleep comes moments later, both of you snoring into the night.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Barney's alarm had been going off for a while now. Hank stares at the slightly ajar door with contempt before grabbing the handle and swinging it wide open, the knob banging against the wall. He gasps in alarm when it's not Barney but Gordon that pops out of the covers, looking scared and disheveled.</p>
<p>"Oh, hell," Hank whispers. "Good morning! Uh, you're gonna be late to work, chief."</p>
<p>Gordon makes some motions with his hands that Hank loosely recognizes as sign language. By the time his brain translates it, Gordon is already shaking Barney awake.</p>
<p>"I'll uh, see you both at work then!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>[December 25th, 2020]</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Holidays were strange at Black Mesa. They tended to be stifled and muted, forced into dilution by the extreme (but necessary) security protocols and inordinate secrecy. Celebrations were stolen in the gaps of fifteen minute breaks or the occasional three-day weekend off, acknowledgement of the lunar calendar found in an end-of-year bonus or promotion. This year, however, the facility found itself lenient, Administration finally bending a caring ear to the woes of his beleaguered employees. </p>
<p>This year found the outside world bleeding back into the steel-and-concrete complex. Sparkling decorations littered topside dormitories in the form of gaudy tinsel and badly placed ornaments, concentrated conspicuously in the Security Team housing. Strings of little LED lights follow the electrified tram routes, mostly white except for a green and red cluster in Topside 8. Every night, the lights stay on later and later, accompanied by the sounds of unrestrained partying.</p>
<p>All in all, it was a very strange, but refreshing, change of pace. </p>
<p>John Freeman found himself in awe of the crazed decorations. He trails after his escort-- two security guards, their vests covered in mistletoe and tinsel-- while trying to take it all in. He doesn't speak, content to let his son ramble excitedly about the scenery, though he has to keep a tight grip on his hand.</p>
<p>"Don't run off," he warns quietly. "You excited to see Uncle Gordon, Joshua?"</p>
<p>The guards lead them into an austere building that's chock full of more security precautions. One of them turns to face John, expression bright.</p>
<p>"Are y'all related to Dr. Freeman?" </p>
<p>"I'm his brother, and this is his nephew, Joshua," John says, eyes wide.</p>
<p>"I thought so! Freeman's a rare name around these parts, but we love Dr. Freeman. I could tell ya so many stories, but not with the little guy around. I'm guessin' it's been a while since y'all seen him?"</p>
<p>John checks for the guard's name, finding it just visible beneath a wreath of gold tinsel. Officer McCain, huh? </p>
<p>"It's been aaaages," Joshua says, pulling the syllable. "I can't wait to see him! I want to show him how good I've gotten at sign language!" </p>
<p>"Oh, yeah? Mind showin' me a little? Get some practice in while we're on the tram," McCain says, ushering the group onto said tram. </p>
<p>John eyes the contraption with suspicion. It looked sturdy enough, but none of the doors had windows, and there was a veritable gap underneath the suspended cart. He sets his hand on Joshua's shoulder when he insists on working through his sign.</p>
<p>To his surprise, McCain reciprocates. He wonders if ASL is required of Black Mesa personnel. He thought it was odd that his brother hadn't complained of that particular ignorance, though he'd never found it in him to press. </p>
<p>"Is that... a Christmas tree on the ceiling?" John says incredulously, gesturing outside the cart.</p>
<p>"Oh, cool! Why'd you put it up there?" Joshua asks, rushing to the edge of the cart. He watches it disappear around the corner.</p>
<p>"Some folks are just really excited about Christmas," McCain says with amusement.</p>
<p>After some time, the tram finally shudders to a stop, parked in front of a space not unlike a subway station. They follow McCain onto the platform, where they run their individual IDs. The guard stationed there opens up the airlock, ushering them through.</p>
<p>"Have a good visit, y'all," they call.</p>
<p>It's swallowed by the doors.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>As it turns out, Gordon's room was not their destination, but Dr. Kleiner's. John stares at the post-it note for a long moment before turning a sheepish look at Officer McCain, unsure of how to proceed. Would they even be allowed to go there? Where did Kleiner even live? </p>
<p>"Ah, don't worry, Mr. Freeman," McCain says, smiling. "Kleiner's right over here."</p>
<p>'Right over here' being the far end of the hall. Joshua bounces excitedly, waiting for the door to open. When it does, he practically lunges forward, excited to hug Dr. Kleiner-- but stops short with a scream when it's decidedly not Kleiner or even Gordon that greets them.</p>
<p>It's a very big man who looks just as startled to see Joshua, and is raising his hands placatingly.</p>
<p>"Awh, shoot! I didn't mean to scare ya," he says earnestly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y'all can call me Barney. Let me go get Kleiner for ya..."</p>
<p>The man-- Barney-- is quickly replaced by Dr. Kleiner. John relaxes imperceptibly.</p>
<p>This time, Joshua does lunge forward, captured easily by his grandfather. They hug tightly, the world slowing back into normalcy as Joshua's joy is contagious. </p>
<p>"It's so good to see you, little Joshua! You've gotten so big since I last saw you," Kleiner says. "Come in, come in, John! There's plenty of room for everyone."</p>
<p>The door closes quietly behind them. John takes in a deep breath, immediately put at ease by the jovial atmosphere. Music is playing softly from a stereo, the scent of food is heavy on the air, and a tiny Christmas tree has been arranged in the far corner. Gordon is currently knelt down beside it, fidgeting with the topper, which--</p>
<p>"Is that a motorcycle?" John says, approaching Gordon. "You're putting a motorcycle on the Christmas tree?"</p>
<p>It was a very well-made little trinket, he had to admit. Shaped kind of like his own black Triumph. He grins as Gordon scrambles to explain himself.</p>
<p>"It's been awhile since I saw you! Sue me for wanting to do something special," he says. Then his expression grows thoughtful. "Actually..."</p>
<p>Gordon pounces on John, wrapping him into a bone-crushing hug and lifting him into the air, giggling in that squeaky laugh of his.</p>
<p>"Holy shit, Gordon! When did you get so strong?!" John shouts, clinging to him, even after he's set down. "You weren't able to do that before!"</p>
<p>"Language!" Kleiner calls, deepened by a cry from Barney. John immediately apologizes, warning Joshua not to repeat him.</p>
<p>"I've been working out," Gordon says, smiling sheepishly. "How've you been? I'm sorry I haven't written back..."</p>
<p>They dive into an enthusiastic conversation, lulled into security while music and the sounds of cooking floats around them. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Barney, admittedly, had his work cut out for him. Black Mesa was not a culinary institute, after all, its position best suited for processed, preservative-stuffed sustenance and things frozen beyond edible comprehension, but he was nothing if not resourceful. With enough butter and shoddy spices, he could make anything taste good. Including the turkey that was nearing the end of its stint in the oven.</p>
<p>He tries to focus on this and not the rest of Gordon's family. He had known Gordon had a brother, but he was a little frazzled by seeing them all in person. Kleiner certainly hadn't told them they were coming! Well, not him, anyway.</p>
<p>Oh, the turkey was out. He stares at it for a long moment. He’d let it cool while setting up the rest of the table.</p>
<p>He does that, singing under his breath, arranging the dining table to his specifications. Vegetables went here, potatoes there, deserts... No pies, unfortunately, but candied yams and a rum cake had been accrued. They better like that rum cake, he thinks darkly. He worked real hard on it. Though the kid-- Joshua?-- wouldn't be able to have any. Shame, alcohol was a great addition to any dish. It explained why they couldn't spike the eggnog, though.</p>
<p>He jumps a little when his shoulder catches on something, looking up to see Gordon standing over him.</p>
<p>"Gordon? Is that mistletoe?" Barney asks, eyebrows furrowing. "When'd that get here?"</p>
<p>A sprig of the green stuff- plastic, he notes dully- was hanging suspended above their heads. Anything else Barney has to say is swallowed up by a kiss, all soft lips and amused, sparkling green eyes that he's all too happy to get lost in. He drapes his arms around his waist, hands resting on the small of his back. Just as his eyelids start to flutter closed, Gordon pulls away.</p>
<p>"How are you feeling?" Gordon asks, head tilting, concerned and curious.</p>
<p>"Well, I'm feelin' quite alright," Barney says, blinking. "Dinner's almost ready. Y'all hungry? I hope so."</p>
<p>He quiets when Gordon kisses him one more time, brief and chaste. </p>
<p>"Plenty hungry. I'm sorry we forgot to tell you about John and Joshua," Gordon says, expression almost somber. </p>
<p>"Awh, don't sweat it," Barney replies. "S'long as they like my cooking, I can't be too upset."</p>
<p>Honestly, he was touched that Gordon was able to parse that out of him. It makes his heart feel warm and soft. But he still had a turkey to worry about.</p>
<p>"Now git! I'm gonna carve that turkey, then y'all can eat, got it?" Barney says, nudging Gordon out of the kitchen. </p>
<p>Gordon laughs, but quickly slinks out of the kitchen. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>you're once again content to let conversation roll over you, a soft, probably dopey smile on your face as you listen to everyone chatter. occasionally, you lapse into energetic chatter with Joshua, both of you signing, both of you trying not to eat too much at once. from the corner of your eye, you see Barney sneaking bits of food into his pocket, which is undoubtedly full of Glockstein.</p>
<p>pretty daring, you think.</p>
<p>Joshua taps your leg. with his hands, he asks very politely for some eggnog. you eye the pitcher of rich drink with a critical eye before turning to Kleiner.</p>
<p>"Oh, it's safe, Gordon. Don't worry," Kleiner says, beaming.</p>
<p>you nod. </p>
<p>"Only a little bit," you say to Joshua, pouring him a minuscule amount into his free glass.</p>
<p>he pouts, but accepts the glass. you end up pouring the same amount into your own cup-- some kind of solidarity, you think. you don't miss the glance John throws your way before diving back into conversation with Barney.</p>
<p>"So, what were you saying about how you and Gordon started dating?" John asks, leaning in with interest. "This is the first I'm hearing of it."</p>
<p>"Awh, it ain't Gordon's fault. Black Mesa's been real cagey about mail lately," Barney says amicably. "Let me tell ya, though, your brother packs a hell of a whallop--"</p>
<p>you clack your silverware across the table several times, pointing at Barney with intention.</p>
<p>"That is not how we started dating!" you insist, motions panicked.</p>
<p>"How do you explain it, then? You punched me, some things happened, and then we were kissin'! The punch is integral to how we started datin'!" Barney laughs, shoulders shaking. </p>
<p>you stick your tongue out at him. </p>
<p>"I didn't mean to punch you," you settle on. </p>
<p>"Do you mean to say Dr. Magnusson was right? I thought he was seeing things!" Dr. Kleiner cuts in, eyebrows climbing high. "I had no idea..."</p>
<p>"To be fair, things kinda went off the rails..." Barney says, scratching his cheek. "But that is how we started datin'! Guaranteed, John."</p>
<p>"Gordon punched someone?" Joshua pipes up, looking up with wide eyes. "That hurts people, you can't do that."</p>
<p>"Yeah, Gordon. That hurt me, why'd you do that?" Barney says instantly, eyes feral.</p>
<p>"Gordon Meanman," John snickers, covering up his laughter with bites of turkey. </p>
<p>you huff and puff at them, trying not to break down into your own laughter. you can't believe you're being bullied by your family, right here, on Christmas Day. there had to be some kind of law against that. if not, you were going to implement one.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>John settles down on the sofa with the rest of his family. The television flickers unsteadily as it displays the loading screen of The Polar Express, music playing tinnily through the speakers. It’s a little strange that such a cutting-edge facility still has old, boxy TVs like this, but it is what it is. Joshua seems plenty happy to sit in his grandpa’s lap, eating caramel popcorn, and begging for the movie to start.</p>
<p>“Can we press play now? Dad’s back,” Joshua whines, looking up into Kleiner’s eyes. </p>
<p>“Yes, yes,” Kleiner says, smiling. He presses play on the remote. With a whimsical sparkle, the screen plunges into brief darkness, lighting back up a moment later. </p>
<p>He glances over at his brother, nestled into the far end of the couch with his boyfriend. Barney’s a good guy so far, if a little loud. He’s currently pulling Gordon’s hair back into a ponytail. Hm, Gordon’s hair seemed a little different. Stilly curly, still red, but there’s a silvery streak running through, staining his bangs. Is he going grey?</p>
<p>“Gordon,” John hisses over everyone’s heads. He’s taller than everyone, having several inches over his brother. “You goin’ grey on me? You’re 27!” He says in sign, eyebrows wagging.</p>
<p>“I’m not going gray,” Gordon says, glasses flashing. “If I’m going gray, you’re getting fat.”</p>
<p>John places his hand over his heart, looking affronted. “Well! Forget I said anything, Gordie!”</p>
<p>He chuckles, letting the issue go. The movie continues playing, bell-heavy music and snow and a train. Who would’ve guessed a train would be in the movie The Polar Express? So engrossed in the story, he doesn’t notice Barney or Gordon get up to leave.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Barney hangs onto your hand as you hurry to the bathroom, feeling slightly queasy. you flick the light on and stare into the mirror, peering with consternation at your appearance. there was gray in your hair, wasn’t there? a nice wide streak, several inches long. it streams through your ponytail.</p>
<p>“You alright, Gordon?” Barney says, resting a heavy hand on your shoulder.</p>
<p>you nod, but gesture at your gray hair. you also rub at your nose, feeling over the obvious blemish-- bent and dented in, remnants of HEV training. the harsh, uneven light of the bathroom just makes it worse. </p>
<p>“I think you look beautiful all the same,” Barney murmurs.</p>
<p>he pulls you into a hug that you can’t help but melt into, sighing. you know he’s right-- it’s just weird becoming hyper-aware of these changes. had the hazard course been so stressful that you grayed out? has it traumatized you? that’s a little much to think about it. you don’t think it’s traumatized you.</p>
<p>even if you still have nightmares about the Houndeye, but surely that’s neither here nor there…</p>
<p>“Gray hair is handsome,” Barney insists, kissing the top of your head.</p>
<p>“It’s just a lot to think about,” you say finally, peering up at him. you twist to face him. “What else is the HEV suit gonna do to me, Barn?”</p>
<p>again, Barney brings you close, kissing your forehead. “That’s a little hard to say, darlin’, but I’m gonna adore ya all the same. Aren’t you starting test chamber work soon?”</p>
<p>“In May,” you clarify, frowning. “But I don’t have anything else scheduled…”</p>
<p>“Then I reckon it won’t do too much more,” Barney says confidently.</p>
<p>he kisses you again, tracking little smooches all along the gray streak. </p>
<p>“You ready to go finish that movie?” </p>
<p>you nod, pulling him into a tight hug.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <strong>[New Year's Eve]</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>you hadn't realized it before, but you've developed callouses across your hands. they're nothing like Barney's, but they're definitely present, a raised and definitive texture that warps the freckles on your skin. you stare at them wonderingly.</p>
<p>"Everything alright?" Barney murmurs softly, taking your hand in his own. </p>
<p>you nod, entangling your fingers. he pulls you down onto your bed, where the pile of blankets has been tossed to the side. his mouth is dry and stubbly where he kisses you, but you twist around and meet him, pulling him close.</p>
<p>your alarm clock glows like radiation. <em>11:56.</em></p>
<p>he sighs into your mouth, breaking the kiss gradually. you cradle him in your arms, burying your nose in his hair. familiarity and warmth floods your veins. </p>
<p>"Feeling better?" he asks, kissing the back of your hand.</p>
<p>you squeeze in answer, making a thin, raspy sound of acknowledgement. he starts to pepper little kisses over your fingers, to your wrist, then your arm. he even kisses the band-aid where you take your T.</p>
<p>the clock reads <em>11:58.</em></p>
<p>it's about to be a brand new year. you're not sure how to feel about that, but you suppose it doesn't matter-- after all, you've spent the majority of today being sick. the celebrations of your neighbors were barely audible through concrete barriers, and alcohol was completely off the table.</p>
<p>it had been just a normal day. for both of you.</p>
<p>you wrap your arms tighter around Barney, squeezing his frame. where his shirt rides up, revealing soft stomach, you place your hands, burying your fingers in the coarse hair. his muscles shudder and jitter, sensitive, unprepared to be touched. you ghost your fingers across the flesh, kissing the top of his head.</p>
<p>you tell him how much you adore him by touching him with a reverence. he makes a low huff of contentment, finally relaxing, face half-buried into your arm.</p>
<p>the clock blinks <em>11:59.</em></p>
<p>the clock turns <em>12:00.</em></p>
<p>"Happy New Years," Barney says, his voice a low rumble. he stretches under your hands, then contorts, practically pulling your body on top of his.</p>
<p>his strong arms wrap around your waist, broad hands pinning you down.</p>
<p>"Never thought I'd get to spend a New Years with someone," Barney says, expression tender. "Even if they did puke on me all day."</p>
<p>you snort, smiling despite yourself. "Neither did I," you admit, going all soft. "Sorry," you add.</p>
<p>"Don't worry your little heart about it, darlin'," Barney says, pulling you down into another kiss. "I'd rather it be you."</p>
<p>you kiss him back, slow and easy. </p>
<p>all is well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is a practice in fluff and hubris. enjoy. we get an extra chapter! for pacing-related reasons! i don't know what i'm doing here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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